tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17027408811777034442024-03-14T02:38:15.221-07:00ZombieBloodFights.com BlogThe only blog on the 'net where Zombies, Blood, and Fights matter.Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.comBlogger513125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-33606896261516390042018-09-29T09:55:00.001-07:002018-09-29T09:55:44.899-07:00CARRIZO KAIJU TEASER<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uMcKTtN_G8E" width="480"></iframe>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-89344048468861928272018-03-09T13:04:00.001-08:002018-03-09T13:04:28.388-08:00BLOOD: The sequal to 'Codename: La Lechuza' - REVELATION OF THE BLOOD QUEEN TEASERTHE SEQUEL TO THE 2017 BEST SELLING SUPERNATURAL ACTION/ADVENTURE STORY ARRIVES IN MARCH<br /><br />
By<br /><br />
Bowie V. Ibarra<br /><br />
<br /><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XP-8xQrnTi8" width="480"></iframe>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-14223036958407576992018-01-20T10:00:00.000-08:002018-01-20T10:12:21.733-08:00BLOOD - Preview Travis Adkins 'Mists of the Dead' <div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">TRAVIS ADKINS TAKES FANTASY FICTION TO ANOTHER LEVEL IN HIS LATEST TITLE</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
by</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Bowie V. Ibarra</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mists-Dead-Travis-Adkins-ebook/dp/B06XC5Q794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1516419160&sr=8-1&keywords=travis+adkins+mists" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="https://www.amazon.com/Mists-Dead-Travis-Adkins-ebook/dp/B06XC5Q794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1516419160&sr=8-1&keywords=travis+adkins+mists" border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="334" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFEZzQnWv8PULp810f8axKPeKpKZibGJROjAU1hXMRIaHO9xX_HkaOERDpvwAOmYc531M5Xts44yniL56_Vq5DmkCs91QqmYgA8w-cYWyAaaAJdW0hpuaSi5y_ljgjRQXKErWO7cQ0P90/s320/Mists+Travis.jpg" width="213" /></a><u> </u></div>
<br />
Travis Adkins has never had issues with lack of imagination. Or articulation. Travis brings all of his best writing qualities in an amazing and enjoyable Dungeons and Dragons-style adventure title that is one part fantasy, one part zombie horror, one part comedy, and one part bawdy erotic title. Read this excerpt from 'Mists of the Dead' and see for yourself. Then, pick up a copy <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Mists-Dead-Travis-Adkins-ebook/dp/B06XC5Q794/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1516419160&sr=8-1&keywords=travis+adkins+mists" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
<br />
Copyright 2017 Henchman Press, Travis Adkins. All rights reserved.<br />
<br />
In the following excerpt, Warrel the Bard, Kogliastro the Wizard, and Beatrix the Cleric have been spirited from their world into a bizzare new world through a mysterious mist. As they try to understand the realities of their new world, rivals from their world appear and bring trouble. That's when the real trouble from the mystery of the mist begins to reveal itself.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
= = = = = = = =</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ahead,
Kogliastro stopped walking and stood still in the midst of his light. Warrel’s
own steps stuttered to a stop, and then Beatrix’s. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As
Warrel waited for the wizard to turn around, with warranted exasperation, and
give them a good scolding, he began formulating in his head the response he
would provide. He would say he and the cleric weren’t arguing, only politely
disagreeing. Then he would apologize. But he had a feeling Beatrix would not
suffer chastisement as readily as he did. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>Please
turn her into a frog</i>, he thought.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>With
movement as slow and graceful as a dancer’s pirouette, the blue mass of robe
framing Kogliastro swiveled around to face them. He brought up his hand, heavy
sleeve sagging, and beckoned with a bony finger for Warrel and Beatrix to come
forward. They did.</span></div>
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<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Get
behind me,” he said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
exchanged glances with Beatrix, and they moved to opposite sides behind
Kogliastro.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
watched the wizard, but said nothing. He looked where the wizard was looking,
back the way they had traveled, at the mists sieging the circumference of the
magical light, obscuring the land from view. It was quiet out there with no one
talking—quiet as a grave. Warrel figured it probably wasn’t healthy to be
immersed in such deadening silence, when all you could hear was your own blood
rushing in your ears.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Danger?”
he asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,”
Kogliastro said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
twitched. Her eyes shut in palliative meditation, and opened again in resolve.
“The un-dead?” she asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro’s
hood shook side to side. “I sense no un-dead in my divinations, only a void,”
he said. “But I know they are only part of it; the void is greater than they.
The emptiness in this world is vast, the nothing greater than the something,
the not-beings greater than the is-beings.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Beings
can <i>be</i>, and nothings can <i>noth</i>,” Kogliastro said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“But
what danger approaches?” Warrel asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“A
subterfuge,” Kogliastro said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The
illusory magic?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No.
The presence of illusory magic is still a distance away. What approaches us now
is the camouflage shadowing us since we arrived here.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>If
you weren’t so obtuse I could better follow what was going on</i>, Warrel
wanted to say.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
mists betrayed nothing. If there was some kind of code lurking in their swirls
and undulations, Warrel couldn’t see it. There was no breeze stirring them yet
still they danced, a reaction without an original action, objects in motion
staying in motion. He swept his torch across his unprotected side, hoping it
might ward off anything lurking on the other side of the light.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“My
powers have failed in this world from the start,” Beatrix uttered through
downcast lips. “I have been unable to sense any of the threats until they were
already upon us. Either my goddess cannot reach me to lend me her strength, or
this world itself is an evil all-pervasive.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>Both,
undoubtedly</i>, Warrel thought. <i>And a cleric who cannot turn the un-dead is
not a cleric at all; worth less than half a fighter, if that. Perhaps the
un-dead in this world are like the dead in </i>our<i> world—quite immune to any
and all manner of buncombe. But what am I worth? It’s not as if I can beguile
them with song, now is it?</i> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Bah!”
Warrel said. “Show yourself, unless thou art craven!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Whatcha
in sucha hurry ta lose ya head for?” a voice returned.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
braced himself. He knew that voice.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Flames
from two approaching torches ruptured the mists, causing a rift in their
omnipresence. Currents wafted aside like ghosts fleeing an enchanter.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Two
men in leather armor marched to a stop just inside the perimeter of
Kogliastro’s light.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
leave a trail a blind man could follow,” the one with the face full of tattooed
teardrops said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
gritted his teeth. “Thou hast been nothing short of coccydynian, Irvane
Jillian,” he said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
smiled. Beside him, his drooling brother Cale flashed a snarl.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Who
are these men?” Beatrix asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Well,
well, well—what’s this?” Irvane said, gawking at the cleric. “You traded in
your dwarf for a blessed little goose.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“So
you are a rapscallious knave; that’s all I need to know,” Beatrix said, folding
her arms and drumming her mace against her hip.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“A
bad trade,” Irvane said. “Me’n Suds actually fretted quite a bit, worryin’
ourselves over how best to deal with Gumgen. Stayed up all night we did,
drawin’ big plans. Don’t matter none now, does it?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
do not get to say his name,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Up
and died, did he?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Fuck
yourself,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
focused on Beatrix again. “I’m sorry, m’lady,” he said. “We’s got no quarrel
with the Whites, but my mama always told me no witnesses, so we’re gonna have
ta dirtnap ya. It’ll be quick.” He cast his eyes at Warrel. “<i>You</i> won’t
be quick though, poet-boy. And when I’m done with ya, I’m gonna profane yer
fuckin’ remains.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPfWnPqLqBfGZIbBjphbSwaEQyZ8Vcm1fhJsNheJkcNNLYdzW50QOhguTXyXHELpn2LkTJI7w8Fg14xrgH8pkJDTxIFQnP0dWtEBFCxyEur2d3L4XfeSNw3miqlbWCTumH1YJVaWG5vBA/s1600/Mists+Bard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="918" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPfWnPqLqBfGZIbBjphbSwaEQyZ8Vcm1fhJsNheJkcNNLYdzW50QOhguTXyXHELpn2LkTJI7w8Fg14xrgH8pkJDTxIFQnP0dWtEBFCxyEur2d3L4XfeSNw3miqlbWCTumH1YJVaWG5vBA/s320/Mists+Bard.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Have
your wits escaped you?” Warrel said. “Has that gaudy codpiece concealing your
microphallus blinded you to the situation in which we find ourselves?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“That
insult’ll be your last,” Irvane said. “Ain’t no Swearen around to protect ya,
and no witnesses’ll be testifying to him on your behalf in regards to what’s
gonna transpire here.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
<i>here</i>,” Warrel said. “Have you looked around? Have you any clue where we
are?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Don’t
know, don’t care,” Irvane said. “I feel <i>strong</i> here. This place fuckin’ <i>speaks</i>
to me. Me’n Suds might even set up house.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“So
strong here,” his brother Suds-Cale mumbled.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Oh,
shut it, thou warthog-faced buffoon,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Can
I kill him now?” Suds-Cale asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Make
your move,” Warrel said. “The wizard will incinerate you.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“The
wizard ain’t doin’ shit,” Irvane said, grinning big.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
he certainly wasn’t, when Warrel glanced over to check on him. Kogliastro was
doing nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Kogliastro,”
Warrel said. “Hey. Hey. Kogster. Pops!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Worry
flashed in Beatrix’s eyes.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He’ll
do whatever we tell him to, ‘cause he can’t do no other,” Irvane said. “He’s
nothing but an old man in a robe, and he’ll give us that nice magic cloak he’s
got if’n we ask him to.” He snuck his free hand behind his back and it returned
with a large glasslike orb cupped in his palm. Irvane displayed it proudly.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>So,
that’s it</i>, Warrel realized. <i>That’s the coward’s cunning Gumgen spoke of;
Irvane’s answer to the wizard’s magic—he has himself a Globe of Invulnerability,
purchased or stolen or looted from an enchanter. Now he and his brother are
immune to magic, immune to scrying, immune to divination</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“A
dirty trick,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“History’s
wrote with dirty tricks,” Irvane replied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“<i>Written</i>,”
Warrel said. <i>What else did Gumgen warn me? Oh</i>— “He might throw daggers
before closing in with swords,” he added from the side of his mouth.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
nodded. She shifted into a sideface posture, mace primed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
caught something from the corners of his eyes—the flutter of Kogliastro’s
beard, and heard something like a growl issue from beneath the wizard’s hood.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
lifted his arm and showed his palm to the Jillian brothers. “Enough,” he said
tiredly. “I have heard enough. It is obvious you will not be swayed from your
ill-intentions by parley. You force me to reveal where the true balance of
power lies.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
turned his hand over, palm-up, mirroring Irvane’s pose. Then, with a suddenness
and ferocity that caused the tendons in his forearm to ripple, and a
simultaneous intonation of the word, “<i>Erbek</i>,” the wizard’s fingers
slammed shut into a quaking fist.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
Irvane’s hand, the Globe of Invulnerability shattered in a wonderful implosion,
filling the bowl-shape of his palm with his own blood. He gawked dumbfounded at
the empty air above his hand where the globe had been, outwardly unaware of the
many more bleeding cuts up his forearm made by the bursting shards of glass.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel’s
eyes widened and his jaw dropped, face beaming. Beside him, Beatrix tried to
conceal her own shocked amusement by covering her mouth with her fingers.
Kogliastro merely lowered his hand and allowed it to resume holding his staff.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Ha!
Ha-ha!” Warrel laughed. “Oh thy loathsome Irvane, I truly hope—for the sake of
the last vestiges of your pitiful pride—that wasn’t the full depth of your
cunning! Ha! This is <i>Kogliastro</i>, man!—not some vagrant street magician!
Did you think he’s never come up against a Globe of Invulnerability before?!
Ha! Oh, thou hast really cuckol’ed the kobold!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“A
thousand cocks on you, bard!” Irvane roared.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What
do we do now?” Suds-Cale asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We
kill them,” Irvane snarled. “And prop ’em up with poles in their nethers.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
two brothers cast their torches aside and drew the bastard swords from the
scabbards on their backs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
was fast—so fast that even with Gumgen’s forewarning Warrel wouldn’t have been
able to evade those three twinkling daggers whistling towards him. He was
spared only because a barrier had materialized between his party and the
cutthroats. The daggers ricocheted sharply off the barrier with three succinct
tings—<i>ting-ting-ting</i>—like the tolls of a tiny bell. Warrel recognized
the barrier—a vertical, two-dimensional abjuration twelve feet wide by twelve
feet tall, transparent and shimmering like a thin coat of water. It was the
same magic he’d seen encompassing Eralynn’s Teahouse to keep out nosy plebeians
when Kogliastro was inside.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
and Suds-Cale shifted their weight forward to charge the barrier, but were
suddenly thrust backward in such a way Warrel assumed Kogliastro had cast
another spell. But that something was terribly amiss here was all that Warrel
could really identify. There was soon too much chaos to fully consider each
occurrence in turn; one horror immediately followed another.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
and Suds-Cale were still just inside the perimeter of Kogliastro’s light, but
their bodies were arched backwards, their heads submerged in the obscuring
mists. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Both
brothers were screaming. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
cringed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Irvane
tugged forward, trying to get himself back in the false safety of the wizard’s
light. He pulled mightily against whatever was keeping his head in the mists
and he momentarily succeeded, just long enough to reveal to Warrel and
Kogliastro and Beatrix the bloody teardrops filling in the tattoos on his
cheeks, and a slimy putrescent hand that poured over his forehead from behind
with its index and little finger sunk deep into the sockets of Irvane’s eyes in
a sinister grapple.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Suds-Cale’s
screaming ceased the instant Warrel heard the cracking crunch of his skull
breaking, which was followed by the wet, slurpy sound of his brain being pulled
from the cavity, and then the gnashings of teeth.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tQqugqq1khXlsrN_Xv7Q05NDQMC1kubJaffBA4h3pHr7S1rMogGA5Xqc-BP2bxPYA2wJypmPRiYXJIhKTcfCEj3qA_Cr3T7jmN9mGrydUIxjY7iVnZeAPIHhBWfJsZvOw9f48qGX6E8/s1600/mists+zombie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="418" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1tQqugqq1khXlsrN_Xv7Q05NDQMC1kubJaffBA4h3pHr7S1rMogGA5Xqc-BP2bxPYA2wJypmPRiYXJIhKTcfCEj3qA_Cr3T7jmN9mGrydUIxjY7iVnZeAPIHhBWfJsZvOw9f48qGX6E8/s320/mists+zombie.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Gramercy!”
Irvane cried. “Gramercy!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His
bastard sword lay discarded on the dry grasses. Both of his hands worked at the
arm that tried to yank him into the mists by its secure grip in his eye
sockets. His face was replete with bloody tears.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
extended his hand and pointed at Irvane. The chant he then intoned from deep in
his throat bore all the evidence of a magically-transformed larynx. An
underlying resonance of rumbling swept over everything. The spell was aimed at
Irvane, but the tangential effects were enormous. Warrel and Beatrix were
seized and held stiff as trees, limbs shuddering.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
tried flailing but could not. He tried shouting, but could not. Beside him,
Beatrix managed a windless groan. He understood what was happening even through
his panic: Kogliastro usurped their voices.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Less
than a second had passed but it felt much longer. It was the first time Warrel
was truly terrified of Kogliastro. He had heard stories, passed off as hearsay,
about unutterable arcana, and realized now with much embarrassment and humility
how stupid he had been; he knew he was traveling with a master wizard, but
didn’t truly grasp how real and harrowing were the unfathomable magics he’d
been warned of—magics that bent reality to the wizard’s whims and gave him
total control of the destinies of others. There was no way of explaining it, or
comprehending it, other than saying Kogliastro had penetrated the immutable
matrix of the universe and come back with the scariest magic ever recorded. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This
enchantment stopped an enemy’s heart by mere postulate.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It
was too much power for anyone to possess. It was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">godlike</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>An
entire barbarian hill tribe was blowing their war-trumpets in Warrel’s ears.
Over the resonance were countless chanting
harmonics—“Beel”—“Kray”—“Ide”—“Urd”—the arcana carrying absolute authority;
demanding, commanding.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
used the power to grant Irvane’s plea for mercy, but the mists corrupted the
magic as Beatrix had warned. Irvane’s heart did not stop beating; it exploded
from his chest instead, ribcage bursting wide open, spattering the magic
barrier with dollops of pulpy blood.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
rumbling ceased. Warrel felt himself back in control of his body.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“<i>Simple</i>
spells, wizard!” Beatrix shouted. “Damn it!—we’re lucky to speak again!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>From
the left flank, a rotted, raggedy humanoid rushed at the cleric, arms outstretched
and flailing like some pestilence-stricken madman racing to arrive first at the
panacea. She staggered the creature with a straight kick to its chest, then
attacked, spinning in a whirl of white tunic, channeling all of her impetus at
the apex of her mace and connecting with the creature’s mouth, bashing it wide
open and sending teeth spraying like tiny hailstones. The creature went flat
and she pounced to finish it off, crushing one side of its skull with an arcing
downward strike, and then ambidextrously swapping the mace to her opposite hand
so she could crush the other side of the skull. It seemed a crucial lesson she
had been first among them to learn: always double-strike the undead.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Another
undead humanoid emerged from the mists and made a run for her, but Kogliastro
thrust out a robed arm and abjurated a second barrier perpendicular to the
first. The undead smacked into it and recoiled with a broken nose.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
encountered his own undead, a putrescent smaller humanoid bounding from stunted
leg to stunted leg, coming closer. He identified it as having been a gnome,
though now it was barely held together by its rotting muscles and
tautly-stretched ligaments.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
waved his torch and his prediction was confirmed: the undead gnome retreated
from the fire. It hopped side to side beyond the reach of the flame, trying to
find a weakness in Warrel’s guard.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
put up a third barrier, this one in front of Warrel, and then a fourth
connecting all the barriers together, and then topped it with a ceiling,
completing the magical box.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>More
undead emerged from the mists and into the wizard’s light. In the time it took
Warrel to cast his eyes around full circle, score upon score of undead had come
out of the mists and gathered on all sides of the magical barrier.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>We
are as the trolls caged in the menagerie</i>, Warrel realized grimly. <i>Except
it’s quite the other way around, now, isn’t it? The ones craving flesh are on the
outside looking in</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>By
the hundreds they came, heeding some demon trumpeter’s call; forgotten souls
from the tempest tossed, human and elf, dwarf and gnome, halfling and orc;
anointed in malodorous cadaverine leachate trickling dark and dirty from ruptured
skin and nostrils, in stages of decay as diverse as the mob’s members; the
pauper in patchwork clothing, bloated with noxious gases; the orc impaled by a
bardiche, feet made of cold and sticky clay; a physician ill-served by the
plague mask even still perched upon his countenance, breached seams dripping
maggots; the knight in corroded and sundered armor, sundry rivets mislaid; the
dames in brocade dresses with lips of lurid blue; the marbled appearance of the
courtesan in a golden girdle; men of nobility in frayed doublets with lacy
ruffled collars; a peculiar humanoid uncatalogued by cryptozoology with a
feature full of outreached tentacles, beak like a squid gaping with hunger,
garbed in a cracked chitinous cuirass; the kingsman donned in a surcoat bearing
the sigil of a kingdom nonexistent; the elf aristocrat decorated in a cloak of
darkleaf—<i>thou are not exempt from this fate; none are. Why need I further
pore—this corner holds at least a score, and yonder twice as many more. The
dead who know nothing: who is the fool?—who is the wise man?—who is the
beggar?—the emperor?</i> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Livers
and intestines were the first to rot after death, Warrel knew, leaving nothing
to digest the nutrients these undead sought. The brains they devoured were
given over to total nothingness—wasted into an eternal oblivion. On Erda, the
world he knew, life must needs eat life. But on this broken, misty world, life
was given unto non-life.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>What
a grisly joke has been played upon us all</i>, he thought.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their
approach was noiseless—trancelike—not a single breath or sound escaped the
dusty abyss of their mouths. The impossibility of their very existence aside,
they should not have had the capacity for such coordinated movement. Even
well-drilled armies of living men sometimes had a stumble or two when they
marched in formation, but not these undead; they did not bump against each
other or cross feet. Somehow they were functioning cohesively—without even
communicating. And now they were at all four sides of the barrier, trying to
get in.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Kogliastro,”
Warrel uttered bleakly. “Is there anything that can be done?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
wizard answered by plunging his staff into the ground, stabilizing its
lifeguarding light, and evoking a magic missile in his palm. He loosed the
missile through the shimmering barrier at the nearest undead, magic slapping
its face with a wet <i>poof</i>. The head recoiled; clear damage had been done.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
evoked another magic missile, and another, launching them at the same undead.
Its head recoiled from each blow, each blasting away a chunk of its skull. Two
more missiles followed and obliterated the skull entirely.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1pcuLqxrCY8AWjZUsKgSSi3tnX8Hj1yTZ9KMGiK-GtJhkvtAyzim2DGKLTpmUwKLBCgS6tFzNtvwipFXN2X3oDB_mBZssW6p3Ovbw0dGWxsBxDXl31cZwep93ElbDSUw1KtIwY1EJho/s1600/Mist+mist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="846" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP1pcuLqxrCY8AWjZUsKgSSi3tnX8Hj1yTZ9KMGiK-GtJhkvtAyzim2DGKLTpmUwKLBCgS6tFzNtvwipFXN2X3oDB_mBZssW6p3Ovbw0dGWxsBxDXl31cZwep93ElbDSUw1KtIwY1EJho/s320/Mist+mist.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
wizard flowed in a magnificent arcane dance, loosing magic missiles into the
air and through the barrier. They came at first by the dozens, then by the
hundreds, the pinkish-orange projectiles racing like tadpoles at the
innumerable targets before them. Surely the mists overhead obscured a display
greater than any performance of fireworks ever recorded on Erda—perhaps a show
even grander than the celebrated ceremony at the Garden of Light in Solux, when
millions of hatchling torchflies swarmed the shores during the night of the
long solstice, brightening the sky as full as day.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
missiles plunged inerrant on their course, <i>poof-poof-poof</i>, destroying
skulls, orange tracers recalibrating to strike the next target, brains and bone
fragments popping out in showery eruptions, mostly headless corpses dropping
clumsily to the ground, twisted and entwined in macabre poses, a tangle of arms
and legs, limbs interlocking in some perverse, necrotic orgy of mortflesh. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Hesitantly
hopeful, Warrel watched on as minutes passed and piles of undead littered the
field. Not a single sliver of weed was visible through the rotting mass.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>He
is doing it</i>, he thought. <i>Truly the wizard is as a god</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Except
the stream of magic missiles had now begun to sputter, like the dwindling
momentum at the end of some divine orgasm. Warrel threw his gaze over to
Kogliastro and observed a blue robe with gold piping soaked through with sweat,
the lower half stumbling, losing coordination.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“He
is exhausting himself,” Beatrix said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
dashed to be at his side, but before she could reach him to support him
upright, the wizard crumpled in a ripple of deflated robe, one final magic
missile shooting from his palm and weakly slapping some undead’s face in a
gesture most impotent.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
lay on the ground. His hood had fallen back in his collapse and the man
underneath revealed to Warrel and Beatrix with absoluteness. This was a man
deep in senescence, a grandfather several generations grand, a sweaty balded
pate above two cataract-infused eyes, twitching as if in momentary senility.
Amidst the white beard a mouth appeared, laboring to propel oxygen through its shallow
passage and refill the strained lungs powering the decrepit carbon engine. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
knelt at his side and supported his head.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>He
is but a cluster of cloth draped upon a frame of bundled twigs</i>, Warrel
thought. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro’s
pupils rolled in Warrel’s direction. They studied Warrel for a time, and then
the wizard said, shakily, “I see you looking at me through the pitying eyes of
youth—the ignorant eyes gazing upon something they think will never happen to
them. Know this, Warrel: One day you too will be a young man looking out upon
the world from the lenses of an old body, and none who look upon you will see
the man you still believe you are.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Outside
the magical cube, there was no indication the number of undead had been at all
reduced. A new wave of zombies scaled and conquered the mountains of unmoving
corpses, and the vanguard was pressed to the barrier and gawking like spoiled
children at the window of a chocolatier’s storefront. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
sluggishly turned away from the sight of them and lowered her head, gulping.
“How long will your barrier hold, Kogliastro?” she asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I…
cannot know for certain,” he replied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
nodded soberly. She cast her eyes around the interior of the cube before
finding and focusing on the bit of handle jutting from Warrel’s boot, the
handle belonging to the Pixie Prick.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
would like to make use of your blade, Warrel,” she said. “May I borrow it?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Shaking
his head in answer to her question was a frustrating distraction. Warrel was
deep in thought, mulling over an idea with a projected outcome that was surely
too hopeful to happen in any kind of real actuality. But if the wizard’s magic
missiles had been able to pass through the barrier from this side, perhaps
anything could.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Face
the inevitable,” Beatrix said. “Be not a coward who dies a thousand deaths.
Lend me your blade and I will demonstrate courage.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No,”
Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Warrel!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No!”
he said. “Cleric, postpone thy martyrdom and humor the possibility, however
remote, that the lunamoth doctrine suckled from the teats of your goddess
serves only to propagandize dying as a trivial, minor inconvenience. I do not
share your conviction that life is but a meaningless flicker against the
backdrop of some grand immortality; I see life in its full, limitless
potential. So, please, be still a moment and let me conclude my thoughts.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Ugh—you
dare <i>advise</i> me,” she scowled. “Such a ubiquitous trend—the male
pontificating the female what she should or shouldn’t do with full agency over
her own body.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Oh,
drop the dogmas!” Warrel snapped. “I’m not trying to claim dominion over
you—I’m only asking that you not pass your ghost beyond the veil before we’ve
exhausted our options.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What
options?” she asked doubtfully.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
might have something,” he said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And
if you do not?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Then
my blade is yours to plunge into your breast—or whatever the ritual is your
goddess demands.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Fine.
Do what you will—but be quick about it,” she said. “If I suffer tortuous death
at the hands of the un-dead, your name will be the last curse uttered from my
lips.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
yes, fine,” he said. <i>I’ve been cursed plenty before</i>. He focused his
attention on the sweaty old man in the skins of robe on the ground like a
collapsed monument. “Kogliastro, are you still with us?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,”
the wizard said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Clarify
for me: will <i>anything</i> go through the barrier from this side?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,”
Kogliastro said. “Attacks from within may pass.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Do
they need be magical in nature?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No,”
Kogliastro said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You’re
quite sure?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
I’m quite sure.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And
nothing can pass through from the other side?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Nothing.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Absolutely
nothing?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Correct.
Unless I authorize it.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And
you’ve authorized nothing to pass?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Correct.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Are
you sure?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“So
nothing at all can pass from the other side?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Nothing.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Are
you very, very sure?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
Warrel, he’s sure!” Beatrix said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
put up his hand. “Okay, okay,” he said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
turned to face the nearest wall. Zombies pressed up against the other side,
front to back, shoulder to shoulder, showing their teeth. Their ranks could go
on infinitely.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
shuddered. <i>I must make room</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
extended his torch at the barrier, expecting some kind of resistance despite
what the wizard told him, but there was none. The flame passed through, as did
the solid of the torch itself. An anomalous force tugged at it from the other
side, but he understood it was actually the barrier prohibiting any particles
from reentering once they had already passed through.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
undead shuffled backwards one step at a time as the flame drew near. Warrel
released the torch and it fell to the dirt on the other side, rolling a short
distance on the slight incline and singeing scattered blades of grass as it
trundled over them. After everything settled and all movement had ceased, there
was roughly four feet of space between the vanguard of undead and the barrier. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>That
will do</i>, Warrel figured.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
reached a hand behind his back to untie the lashings securing the crossbow to
his knapsack. Once accomplished, he displayed the crossbow to Kogliastro and
Beatrix.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“This
is The Albatross,” he said. “The heighth of gnomish ingenuity. This,” he
bounced it in his hands, “is equal to almost the entirety of my life savings.
I—”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Get
<i>on</i> with it,” Beatrix said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m
getting there, I’m getting there,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
spun again to face the undead. With a nervous exhale, he released the
ammunition casing from the crossbow’s stock, and verified with a quick glance
that six Bolts of Massive Explosion were lined up inside. They phosphoresced
with an ominous green iridescence, sheening to glowing tips, a luster lusting
only for carnage, wholesale.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>And
so you shall have it</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
settled the stock against his shoulder and lifted the crossbow at a rotting elf
in the forefront. Its pointed ears were browned and withered at the edges and
the cartilage of its nose was disintegrated, exposing a festering nasal cavity.
Warrel sighted center-mass, the crosshairs targeting a magnified view of the
elf’s chest, showing with gratuitous detail the slimy curls of intestine
peeking out through multiple ruptures.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
cocked the foregrip with a staunch jerk back then forward, the crossbow
releasing a hiss of air in synchronization with the forward motion, drawing
back the mithral bowstring. A Bolt of Massive Explosion was conveyed by some
mechanism inside and positioned in the flight groove.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
tapped his finger on the tickler guard. It was all that stopped him now.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Hold
on to your butts,” he said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
pulled the trigger. His eyes were able to witness only a single image of the
bolt, a brief instant of the distortion of space by a zooming body captured in
his memory as a wraithlike umbilical cord linking the crossbow to its target.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
then all the fires from all the furnaces of all the hells opened wide their
abyssal jaws and expelled apocalypse on the dark and misty lands. All was
fire—the undead were fire, the soil was fire, the air was fire—burning
greenish-red and engulfing even the mists—the mists that succumbed even after
losing form and sprinkling droplets of evacuees that were immediately boiled
and annihilated. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
winced and shrank back, shielding his eyes with his forearm. The ground
trembled below his feet. He squinted at Kogliastro and Beatrix, at their bodies
bathed in a wash of neon light, and dreadfully wondered if this might not have
been what the wizard had in mind when he said nothing could pass. Warrel
counted one, two, three seconds. But inside the magic cube, even at the nucleus
of the explosion, the tall grasses were still green and thriving and he felt no
trace of heat from the inferno without.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
raging fire was too wide-ranging to make any assessment of its true
proportions. For all Warrel knew, it could have conquered this broken world
entirely. And once he admitted this to himself, he recognized the terrified
expression frozen upon Beatrix’s countenance. It meant to say, <i>the gnomes
have it within them to destroy the world—gods help us all</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A
minute passed, at least, before there was any change in intensity. The flames
receded and the mists in the sky were replaced with roiling black smoke. The
fire divided, died off, separated into small tongues lapping away at meager
remnants of corpses like pennants of fallen soldiers rippling in the wind after
a battle. The field was black, scorched and smoldering. There was no undead
left standing anywhere in sight—which was quite far, for the fire had sent the
mists into full retreat and provided Warrel his widest vista since he first set
foot in this gloomy world.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
sprang to her feet and investigated the carnage around her. When Warrel espied
glimpses of her face, he felt he could almost read her mind: Her oaths forbade
her from encouraging, approving, or permitting such wanton destruction, but she
was so relieved to be alive that she praised the wanton destruction for saving
her, and then all the feelings of guilt came flooding in, and surely at this
point she was a mess of amalgamated emotional dissonance. It explained her
withdrawn silence.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Inexorably,
new undead appeared at the horizons in the form of misshapen silhouettes,
weaving around the numerous small fires still burning, drawn to the occupants
inside the magic barrier.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“They
will keep coming,” Kogliastro said, wincing as he sat up. “And I must dissolve
the barrier soon—I cannot recuperate with this lingering magic taxing my power.
How much ammunition do you carry?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
have five bolts left,” Warrel replied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Of
the same variety as the one you loosed?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Good,
good—fantastic,” Kogliastro said, with burgeoning enthusiasm. He pointed at the
way they had been travelling. “We must continue seeking the source of the
illusory magic. There is an intelligence behind it. If we locate it, we may
find safety.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i>Somehow
I doubt that</i>, Warrel thought.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Clear
a route with your weapon, as far as you can,” Kogliastro said. “Thenceforth we
can flee before more un-dead close in on us.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No
other options were coming to mind, so Warrel set about the task. Beatrix
blinked away from eye contact and said not a word as he slipped past her to the
barrier opposite. He felt her fingers brush his wrist, probably carrying the
intent to halt him but not with enough real conviction to make it manifest. She
turned her head lugubriously in his wake, as if it were demanded by creed that
she witness the chaos her silence sanctioned.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
sighed, barely audibly, “How can my fall be happening <i>so fast</i>?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
aimed at the farthest spot he could see in the blackness, where the mists were
converging, and fired a second Bolt of Massive Explosion.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This
time he could behold the detonation in all its glory. The initial burst was a
spherical eruption of flaming spikes that looked like the form of some giant
enraged quillrat, then a growing column of greenish-red flame shooting into the
sky and billowing off like a mushroom. The all-consuming wave of fire came
next.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
did not wait the full minute or more for the fire to dissipate. He cocked the
foregrip again, lifted his aim to a higher trajectory, and pulled the trigger.
He wasn’t sure what kind of range The Albatross was capable of, but he figured
it must be great.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Another
mountain of fire erupted behind the first. Warrel aimed higher and fired again,
then aimed higher and fired again, repeating until the last bolt was expended.
He agonized upon each explosion, wondering how much each shot was costing him
monetarily. He decided he oughtn’t analyze it too thoroughly; after all, any
man who watched his fortune slipping away would feel the same paroxysms of
grief.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Good,
good,” Kogliastro said. He attempted to stand, but couldn’t get further than
one knee. He wobbled, on the verge of toppling over.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
caught him. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” she said. “We are in no immediate
danger. Dissolve your barrier. Let your strength return.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No
time,” Kogliastro said. “We must flee now.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Then
we shall carry you,” Beatrix said, purchasing Warrel’s compliance with the
austerity of her gaze.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
took opposite sides of the wizard and draped his arms across their shoulders,
raising him gently to his feet. To Warrel it seemed less like a human body he
and the cleric shared between them and more akin to some hollow construct of
papier-mâché they were charged with delivering undamaged to some far-off
exhibition. He feared at any moment he would harken the sound of a breaking
bone.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
pulled Kogliastro’s staff out of the ground and slipped it into his hand. He
adjusted it in his grasp to extend the light before them.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Be
swift,” he said. “Now, forward, as the fires die.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
barriers dissolved with a flicker. Hot air blew at them like the ambient heat
of a summer sun baking the concrete of a city street, along with the marinade
of smells such a street would carry. The pungent stench of crispy, cremated
corpses burned in Warrel’s nostrils as if he had snorted the entire stale
contents of an old pepper grinder.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
ran, gaining speed as they coordinated strides. Their bootsteps sunk deep in
the sweeping black bed of powdery cinders, ashes stirring like dead leaves in a
poofy gust of autumnal breath, fiery red coals snowing at their trail.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
craters at the detonation points served as beacons through which they waded in
and out, and at the third crater Warrel burst into hysterical laughter.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
confusedly glanced over at him, then returned her eyes forward. “What could you
possibly find so funny?” she asked.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Oh—”
Warrel said with a grimace, “Only that I laid The Albatross down and forgot to
take it up again. I ask you: how much must I give?—how much must this land
take?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Good
grief,” Beatrix said. “You know we can’t go back.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
know,” he panted. “Just imagine all the other treasures that might be lost out
here in the mists.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I
am imagining living—not treasure,” she coolly replied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her
breathing was regulated despite the exertion of running, in contrast to
Warrel’s increased huffing and puffing. He had worked hard to keep up his
cardio and thought the natural endurance of half-elves quite unfair. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
living,” he said. “Aren’t you glad you stuck around? I bet you’d have felt
awful silly killing yourself <i>before</i> I managed to get us out of there.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes,
Warrel,” she said. “I’m sure I would have felt <i>very</i> silly.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“And
considering you’d likely have returned as un-dead.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“What?”
she said sharply, looking past Kogliastro to throw a quick glare in Warrel’s
direction. “What does that mean?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Just
a hypothesis I have,” Warrel said. “If you die with your brain intact, your
body belongs to the mists. I think.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Beatrix
scoffed. “And you were going to give utterance to your hypothesis <i>when</i>?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“When
and if the need arose, I suppose.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
growled. “Argh! You flighty bastard!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m
<i>not</i> flighty,” Warrel said.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She
nodded a thought to herself, with conviction, unable to hide the sneer of her
lips. “I’d have gone for <i>your</i> brain first,” she said, “though I’m sure
it would’ve provided me little satisfaction.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Oh,
truly thou art <i>rife</i> with zingers,” Warrel replied.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
impertinent flake,” she hissed. “By the gods, it’s as if I have direct audience
with the uncrowned king of imbeciles.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Enough!”
Kogliastro burst. “Both of you, enough!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
was not frightened so much at the wizard’s anger as he was by the mists closing
in at their sides. They appeared rageful, swooping in swiftly and violently,
wanting nothing less than outright revenge for the casualties they suffered by
fire.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
scorched land gradually gave way to unscathed pastures. The mists tried to
smite at the wizard’s light, sending wispy assassins to encircle the bright
bulb at the end of his staff. The luminosity dimmed under their efforts, but
did not extinguish.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
though Warrel did not turn his head long enough to investigate fully, he was
almost certain putrefied hands and arms were reaching at them from the mists.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
almost cried aloud, <i>We aren’t going to make it!</i> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They
passed through an opening in a low stone wall, the first architecture Warrel
had seen since leaving the abandoned town. The grass began to reveal
interspersed flagstones that clapped loudly under their bootfalls, leading
somewhere, certainly.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>—<i>Hopefully</i>.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Stop,”
Kogliastro said. “We are there.” He unwound his arms from the cradle of their
shoulders and leaned forward heavily on his staff.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Directly
before them was debris where a large manor once stood, evidenced by the ruins
of pillars, walls, and supports suggesting the shape of the original structure.
There was no telling what its final fate had been, whether fire, storm, or
pillaging. Strangely, however, the mists did not invade the area. They seemed
unable, being stopped and turned away at the tentative borders.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“There
is nothing here,” Warrel said, breathing hard.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yes
there is,” Kogliastro said. “We see an illusion—a false projection of reality.
Behind the illusion the structure still exists, intact and mostly undamaged.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It
does?” Warrel asked. “There’s a… <i>house</i> here?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
stepped ahead and flattened his palms against one of the pillars, but his skin
did not quite make full contact, as if there were some invisible surface area
he was not allowed to see. He knew there was something there; he could feel a
finished surface on his fingertips, like polished wood or a painted exterior.
He walked sideways, following the imperceptible vertical plane with slaps of
his palms, feeling the solidness even where his eyes were sure there was
nothing.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“There
must be a way in or someone wouldn’t be bothering to hide it,” he said. “A
door—there must be a door.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>His
brushed against the jambs of a doorframe and felt for its outline. The doorway
was large—he could tell that straight away—something imposing and impressive
for moneyed gentry to flaunt at passersby. He laid hand on the doorknob, but it
only rattled in his grasp. He floated a hand upwards and found a hinged
knocker, a cold metal cast of some indefinite form.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Hello!
Is there anybody there?!” he called out, rapping.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Only
stillness answered him, though every word fell echoing through the shadowiness
of the house, the air shaken by his call.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
stood perplexed. He called again, “Is there anybody there?!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But
never the least stir made the listeners.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Open
says me!” he shouted. He fumbled down at the knob and probed for a keyhole
while one hand slipped into his jacket for his howler quill. “I may be able to
pick the lock.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No,”
Kogliastro said. “Stand back. I am not strong enough yet to dispel the
illusion, but I may be able to… just stand back.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
backed away uncertainly, glancing over his shoulders for any sign the undead
had caught up.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
lifted a shaky hand and said, “<i>Repulverie</i>.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A
large rectangular shape burst thunderously in the false emptiness and yellow
light gushed forth from the nothing. Kogliastro had repelled the door from its
frame, Warrel gathered, and he was now seeing the interior the illusion had
concealed. It was well lit, and there were no mists inside—that was good enough
for him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kogliastro
collapsed to his knees. Beatrix collected him under his arms and hoisted him
up. She assisted him to the doorway as he hobbled weakly on crouched legs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
Warrel was suddenly off his own, plummeting forward, his nose barely missing a
flagstone. He cried, “Oomph!” as he ate a mouthful of dirt.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
was dragged backwards, back to the mists, his shirt bunching up in a roll
against his chest, a firm pressure around his ankle like a terminal anchor. And
he was too tired, too fatigued—and he knew it—to struggle against his
assailant. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
undead leaped, and Warrel heard the whistle of air through its gaping mouth,
and soon the teeth would be clenched on his scalp, and he braced himself for
the surge of pain.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There
was an unexpected sound, though, a loud <i>thunk</i>, following an altogether
different whistle of air. Warrel saw the blurred crystalline club swinging in a
pendulum arc, and felt the impact in the atmosphere when the undead’s face was
crushed into its scalp.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A
hand gripped the collar of his jacket and he felt himself dragged once again,
this time forward, turned clumsily half-over with his knapsack holding him at
an angle. The coarse dirt abruptly changed to smooth hardwood flooring, and the
hand released him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He
lifted his head. There was Kogliastro on his hands and knees in the blankets of
his robe, and he thrust a hand back and said, “<i>Etrun</i>.” The rectangle
shape, now recognizable as a paneled door, flew back into its frame as if drawn
by gravity. Kogliastro then fell flat on the floor, exhaling an exhausted sigh.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
propped himself on an elbow, and breathing hard, trying to syncopate the
beating of his heart, gazed up at the pale apparition who had delivered him
from skeletal clutches.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Yours
is the aura of a corrupter,” Beatrix said. “But I postponed your death all the
same. Like for like.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px -48px 0px 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Warrel
nodded. He had the urge to shamelessly and effusively kiss her boots, but
settled for patting them instead. The doeskin was soft yet unyielding to his
touch.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You
have my undying gratitude,” he said. “Pardon the pun.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;">= = = = =</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-598564729468683272018-01-10T17:55:00.002-08:002018-03-30T17:03:58.407-07:00FIGHTS: Preview - La Lechuza: Revelation of the Blood Queen<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><i>New adventure pits <br />La Lechuza vs. Vampires in the Border Patrol</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYrEr_kNIaEvnlyjWz3Ll3XbxSbepD7eyJ5np4z8g7PmrHbTZUyj4tWO4SSWuyIu0qKp-QPYHGf1a48q7NBHhx5ppn_xjYhYD6u6XzsDOPMW4fhQePJsCALQDIhrhSPNH5m3qAulPTbY/s1600/red+vamp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="414" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixYrEr_kNIaEvnlyjWz3Ll3XbxSbepD7eyJ5np4z8g7PmrHbTZUyj4tWO4SSWuyIu0qKp-QPYHGf1a48q7NBHhx5ppn_xjYhYD6u6XzsDOPMW4fhQePJsCALQDIhrhSPNH5m3qAulPTbY/s320/red+vamp.jpg" width="243" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><b><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">First ZBFbooks.com title of 2018 pits the hard fighting, hard loving Paula Belle Luna, Codename: La Lechuza, against the forces of darkness! Vampires have infiltrated the Border Patrol, and its up to Paula to stop them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In the following excerpt, Paula has discovered the menace and wants to confirm if the malevolent beings are capturing illegal immigrants and holding them prisoner for their precious blood. She gets a ride to the Border Patrol facility just outside of San Uvalde by her arms provider, Reverend Farkas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-size: small;"></span>This book is a work of fiction.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>People, places, events, and situations are
the product of the author’s imagination.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events,
is purely coincidental. </span></div>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Copyright 2016, 2017, 2018 Bowie V. Ibarra and
ZombieBloodFights.com.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All Rights
Reserved.</span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">CHAPTER
11</span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">
LATE NIGHT INFILTRATION</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 20pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Are you going to tell me anything,
Paula?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Didn’t Jesus say, ‘Silence is
Golden’, padre?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“That wasn’t Jesus.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula had to reach out to Rev. Farkas
if she was going to undertake her reconnoiter on the Border Patrol.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Making sure the kids were taken care of at
the house, she had picked up most of her gear.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>There was enough supplies for her recon, but she needed one last
important element. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A ride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Why couldn’t you take your own car?”
said Rev. Farkas, shifting the steering wheel to avoid a pothole on the road.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Because everyone knows my car.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Besides, your company and blessing are
needed.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She gripped her hands together,
tilted her head, and fluttered her eyes in an insincere gesture.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You always have my blessing, Paula,”
said Rev. Farkas patiently.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He couldn’t
help but huff and shake his head with a grin as he turned onto a road just
outside of town near the Purple Sage.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>“But I’m not going with you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m just doing recon,” said Paula.
“And I just need you to pick me up in an hour… right here.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula could see the Border Patrol
building in the distance and called for Rev. Farkas to stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Alright.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Simonize our watches to one hour,” said
Paula, prepping her timer on her teched-out googles.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Synchronize?” said Rev. Farkas,
prepping his watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Whatever,” said Paula.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“On one.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>In 3, 2, 1.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Farkas and Paula started their timer
together and Paula slung her gear pouch, storing a rope and a grappling hook as
well as a few other supplies, across her shoulder.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But before she stepped out, she looked to
Farkas.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“How about that blessing, padre?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Smiling and making the sign of the
cross over Paula, Rev. Farkas gave Paula her blessing.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Lord, bless and protect your daughter and
servant, and bring her back to me in an hour.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Amen.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their eyes locked.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Amen,” said Paula, stepping into the
night and running into the brush a few hundred yards from the facility.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Without her original outfit, Paula had
to improvise.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She had picked a pair of
black spandex leggings with a thin green stripe running down the side of her
legs to her green Addidas wrestling high tops.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Her throwing knives were strapped around her right thigh.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her Bowie knife hung from her right hip.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The spandex top she was wearing matched her
leggings, complete with green trim on the shoulders that ran down to her
wrists.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Green trim also laced the
material around her generous cleavage. And if you looked hard enough, you could
see a soft belly behind the black spandex.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The lenses of her high-tech goggles were yellow and her hands were
covered with loaded SAP gloves.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Jogging through the brush, she
crouched down and snapped a pic of the facility using her goggles.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then, using the device’s projector app that
produced two screens in front of her, she opened the screen and dialed up the
coordinates of her location.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was
projected in one of the screens, then copied and pasted to a satellite imagery
app.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Even though she had resigned from the
clandestine organization she once worked for**, the tech and apps still worked
for her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And Rev. Farkas, along with
Sister Joyce, made sure to secure the apps and have access to any upgrades
without ever losing info. </span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As the satellite photo was being
downloaded, Paula was studying a blueprint of the main building taken from the
San Uvalde municipality database on the other open window.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She twisted and turned her hand in front of
her face, manipulating the size of the image with the projector app.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s when a text alert blinked above
the open windows.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was Mickey.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "lucida console"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">What
R U wearing?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZczscyibKtcP6laexvzbNuHQId50rrDobisxYk8sRr_CB5KQ_EwUpwypC2FfihP_ahE_dMAd2g0xxy1SwbSYEdar1AcFJI3rfDL4cuuwg2wPib4_Lte6RPsY-ytf1gVNjskXNc3Egb3g/s1600/4ee46f289db3fc811ff87134b6c16c5f.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="591" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZczscyibKtcP6laexvzbNuHQId50rrDobisxYk8sRr_CB5KQ_EwUpwypC2FfihP_ahE_dMAd2g0xxy1SwbSYEdar1AcFJI3rfDL4cuuwg2wPib4_Lte6RPsY-ytf1gVNjskXNc3Egb3g/s320/4ee46f289db3fc811ff87134b6c16c5f.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Dammit, Mickey,” whispered Paula as
she checked out the now-available satellite image.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Some other time, man.”</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The image was in great resolution, and
showed not only the main office building, but the location of the warehouse,
hidden in the trees and brush a few hundred yards behind the main office.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The same office from the vision.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Upon closer examination, Paula noticed a
non-paved road to the warehouse was hidden in the trees.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Though a few vehicles were parked around the hidden
building, there was no evidence of guard towers or people in general.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No security walking around.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Curiously, there were no windows on the upper
level of the warehouse.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So there was no
question the main target to investigate was the warehouse.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So, staying in the shadows, Paula
crept through the trees and brush to the warehouse.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As she made her way, a deep sense of
dread began to fill her heart with fear.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She stopped, cloaked in darkness and looked around.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She felt like a pair of eyes, or more, were
looking at her.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She turned on her infrared vision.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Night vision.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nothing.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>FLIR.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nothing.</span></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Enough with the fear, Paula,” she
whispered, returning the goggles to normal vision.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Fighting through the fear, Paula
emerged from the brush, still in the cover of darkness, near the building.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She clicked on the ‘Camera Freeze’ app on her
goggles screen that freeze-framed security camera transmissions.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She then had the goggles perform an
electronic assessment of alarms and locks.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>While she let the apps do their work, she checked out the building
exterior.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Similar to the main office, this big
warehouse had no windows with the exception of one large window on the third
floor.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula assumed there was a
matching one on the opposite side.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
building was made of cinder blocks and had two large metal doors at the front,
big enough to drive a large vehicle through.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>She switched to X-Ray vision app and immediately noticed she could not
penetrate the walls with the app.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Hmm.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The electronic assessment of the
alarms returned, and she optioned to have them turned off.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But the locks to the main door were not
electrical.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Taking another look at the aerial
shots, Paula noticed large vents and skylights on the top of the building.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That was a new option.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Glad I brought you,” said Paula, pulling
out a rope and hook from the bag.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Finding a good edge that looked strong enough to allow the hook to grip on
the flat roof, Paula spun the hook and rope before getting enough momentum to
throw it up.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The hook caught hold of an
edge, and after a quick test, Paula climbed the wall.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_Hlk502593148">Reaching the
rooftop, Paula quickly pulled the rope up and placed it back in her </a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ctDgyP6jbZLJs0Qura_SFaACrUQ-3PnoFCOcGpnzt9-Y5A6ZsMng3u_-l7V6z6GBq54ia6rDVHGc85c24uY2GdUWvr4lELUuMaj2OplfNIn4kPv59xkZD3fRAgFf1Qg3dqFBfX3DohI/s1600/hightech-eyeglasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ctDgyP6jbZLJs0Qura_SFaACrUQ-3PnoFCOcGpnzt9-Y5A6ZsMng3u_-l7V6z6GBq54ia6rDVHGc85c24uY2GdUWvr4lELUuMaj2OplfNIn4kPv59xkZD3fRAgFf1Qg3dqFBfX3DohI/s320/hightech-eyeglasses.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
pouch after
tying it up again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She scoped out the
rooftop and could see the skylights she had viewed in the satellite images.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Let’s take a peekski,” she whispered,
walking to a skylight.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The rocks that
were spread across the tar roof crunched under her boot.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She looked around her, sensing she was being
watched.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Scream</i>.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Looking down into the warehouse, the
lights were off.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>All she could see was
the soft glow of computer monitors stuck on a screen saver and other electrical
devices near the floor.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I need light,” she whispered, activating
the night vision of her goggles.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Clicking it on, she peered through the skylight.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Help.</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her eyes grew wide as the night vision
app brought to light what was hidden.</span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Help
me.</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Below, in the large warehouse, were
rows upon rows of white tables.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Lying on
the tables, strapped down and set with multiple intravenous devices, were
humans.</span></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Apparently, they
were dressed in the clothes they had been caught in and set on the tables.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Very clear streams of blood were passing
through the IVs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A mask was set over
their nosed and mouths in which Paula assumed was the gas that kept them under
and, perhaps, oxygen to keep them alive.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But the most fascinating aspect was
how the tables were arranged on multiple conveyer belts. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The belts ran diagonally in a cycle.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The setup reminded Paula of the old mills
that cycled through with buckets scooping water into the mill, spinning it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Even though this machine was not working now,
Paula assumed that’s how it ran.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">They
must cycle through every day and harvest the blood</i>, she thought.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fed
intravenously.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Diabolical.</i></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“It’s quite a setup, wouldn’t you
agree?”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbrmn3YIkUCLWJq5wWJYtdZSadPWtw7_eyG4J6pffF7PLypceFNgBEgkkyGN4KEM1yk9GSBprmR2avtmiEVgiP_xNdcgvIuMAIAYIysvpS-kTHqq2bl4kwTOSd4rgEOE9JpSNDLApf3Q/s1600/d75969c08906fe273631902256e302b5--crossdressers-bettie-page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="736" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbrmn3YIkUCLWJq5wWJYtdZSadPWtw7_eyG4J6pffF7PLypceFNgBEgkkyGN4KEM1yk9GSBprmR2avtmiEVgiP_xNdcgvIuMAIAYIysvpS-kTHqq2bl4kwTOSd4rgEOE9JpSNDLApf3Q/s320/d75969c08906fe273631902256e302b5--crossdressers-bettie-page.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The voice startled Paula, who
immediately turned and shined the light from her goggles on the source of the
voice behind her.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The source of the
comment held up her hand to the bright light.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Paula could see the woman’s lips, laced in red lipstick, curve into a
smile.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She knew exactly who it was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Bolts of fear shot through her body.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Why, Deborah Robins.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Taking a midnight stroll on a rooftop
tonight?” said Paula, trying to stay calm.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You could say that,” she said.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She could feel Paula’s fear.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ms. Robins was wearing a Border Patrol
uniform.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her top was unbuttoned.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula hated how the bitch showed off her
rack.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The wind caught her jet black hair
and ruffled her straight bangs.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Just
doing my job.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Security, right?”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“Right,” she replied, walking to
Paula.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You’re coming with me.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“How about ‘no’, dear,” said Paula,
unsheathing three throwing knives from her thigh strap and jetting them toward Agent
Robins.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They whistled through the air
and struck true.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One struck Ms. Robins’
throat.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The second, in the chest, right
between her two large breasts.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Third,
her stomach.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They set in Ms. Robin’s
body in a line.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Blood sputtered from the
points of entry, soiling her top.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Agent Robins gurgled in pain, removing
the knives and staggering.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“You cunt,”
she whispered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula pulled out the hook and rope
again and untied it, ready to go over the side again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I’m the boss here, bitch.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Don’t fuck with me.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Some confidence was returning.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Ms. Robins’ gurgles turned to laughter.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Her throat sizzled and healed before Paula’s
eyes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Steam rose from the other wounds
as they also healed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“No,” said Ms. Robins, dashing to
Paula at an unearthly speed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“I am the
boss!”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Not expecting the move and the speed,
and with no time to respond, Ms. Robins shoved Paula into the air.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Taking flight, out of control, Paula was sent
over the edge of the building.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Having
just scaled the wall, she knew exactly what was below her.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Paula’s body was on a crash course for
the hard stones and dirt on the ground below.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 13px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>** see ‘Codename: La Lechusa’</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">= == === ==== === == =</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">What happens next? Buy it now in Paperback or Kindle before the paperback <span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Lechuza-Revelation-Blood-Queen-ebook/dp/B078RDVFP2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1515635170&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+lechuza" target="_blank">HERE</a></span>!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTLw6X6TDpNj11zHXU50KtJQ7XumHyOhejr4-EbdSyB31kCeJJlyLn4Vek2MHty8Uxz-eeLCL1nFz8hCttH3bpaNZhxPrx6kMrU-mJoaWZxzKRPQi73w1cp71hKyE88MIZuQzpJoRqBQ/s1600/La+Lechuza+Kindle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvTLw6X6TDpNj11zHXU50KtJQ7XumHyOhejr4-EbdSyB31kCeJJlyLn4Vek2MHty8Uxz-eeLCL1nFz8hCttH3bpaNZhxPrx6kMrU-mJoaWZxzKRPQi73w1cp71hKyE88MIZuQzpJoRqBQ/s320/La+Lechuza+Kindle.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%; margin: 0px;">Get the hot action 1st title from the Lechuza series <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Codename-Lechusa-Bowie-V-Ibarra-ebook/dp/B00H33SPTU/ref=sr_1_14?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1515635257&sr=1-14" target="_blank">HERE</a>!</span><br />
<br />
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-22789851982425143452017-08-04T13:59:00.000-07:002017-08-04T14:03:12.076-07:00FIGHTS: PREVIEW - 'El Aire vs. The Mummies of San Uvalde'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A Sneak peek at the lucha cinema inspired story</div>
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by</div>
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Bowie V. Ibarra</div>
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<br /></div>
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On September 1st, the debut of ZBFbooks.com's latest action title hits the stands. El Aire vs. The Mummies of San Uvalde. Inspired by the lucha cinema movies of El Santo and Blue Demon, the story finds El Aire, a legendary Mexican luchador, fighting to save a city from an Aztec Death cult.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Here's the synopsis:</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">El Aire is a legendary Mexican luchador. With a combination of high-flying acrobatics
and scientific technical prowess on the mat, El Aire is one of the premiere
wrestlers in the world. When he’s not
competing in a lucha libre event, he’s working to protect his community as an
independent crime fighter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His ally, PJ Homeslice, brings El Aire news of a
small time crime. But a deeper
investigation proves the crime to be bigger than initially considered. Museums across Texas, including in San
Uvalde, have had thefts involving the relics of Mictlantecutli, an ancient
Aztec God who was said to have powers over the living and the dead. El Aire and PJ discover that the crimes
coincide with wrestling events promoted by one of El Aire’s old rivals, the
rich Copetes Hernandez.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As El Aire and PJ investigate, they learn of a cult
whose followers believe in the second coming of Mictlantecutli. And the two friends discover that the recent
archeological investigation not only reignited the cult, but holds much darker
revelations: The Mummies of San Uvalde!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Is Copetes responsible for the thefts? Are the mummies rising from the grave with
supernatural powers? Can El Aire recover
the relics? It’s a lucha cinema-inspired
adventure that will culminate in a devastating Lumberjack Match in the Temple
of Mictlantecutli…TO THE DEATH!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Action, intrigue, and lucha excitement await as El
Aire takes on The Mummies of San Uvalde.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And now, here's your chance to read the first two chapters of the exciting lucha-themed adventure, El Aire vs. The Mummies of San Uvalde!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Aire-vs-Mummies-San-Uvalde/dp/1533203474/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501880243&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+mummies" target="_blank"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicwueO_vkvgtS5gH3uNLWwphKZjAl1UNKCYOCIuCvFkeKKFTA3IZpFes6sW52Mx_x4se4JA9aJsEdYP194XeQCGl3mgd88_fNnj80OL2Nl1CJr3qn4E3-RhGktcMbwJAYUbUKPOOdpFCo/s320/Mummies.jpg" width="213" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Aire-vs-Mummies-San-Uvalde/dp/1533203474/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501880243&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+mummies" target="_blank"><br /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">EL AIRE vs THE MUMMIES OF SAN UVALDE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">BOWIE V. IBARRA<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">COPYRIGHT 2015 BOWIE IBARRA, ZBFBOOKS.COM<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3<sup>rd</sup> draft 4/29/15<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">DEDICATED TO EL SANTO AND BLUE DEMON.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To The Masked Gringo and the Ethiopian Hemmorhoid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">To PAUL BISHOP and FightCard Books for recognizing
how great lucha libre is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">PROLOGUE<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
Dallas Museum of History had held many a special exhibit in its long
lifetime. The exhibits were always of the
highest quality and prestige. It was
this commitment to excellence that attracted folks from all over the Dallas/Ft.
Worth metroplex and the rest of the state.
But no other display of rare treasure had reached the heights of
attention than its latest exhibit held for the facility. The Lost Treasures of the Mictlantecuhtli Legend
was wildly popular. It was, perhaps,
even more popular than the curators had anticipated. The exhibition garnered worldwide attention
as one of the hottest and most valuable ancient treasures on display across
Texas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because of this fact,
the display of ancient relics needed the most capable, the quickest, and the
most effective security team money could buy to protect it. And it needed a leader to put the museum on
lockdown when the time was right. Protect
the treasure. Defend the history. Someone who would not let anything, man our
mouse, get past his steely gaze and competent watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That man was Waldo
Lipschitz.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Waldo Lipschitz. Substitute teacher for fourteen years. Mall security team for twenty. Dallas Museum of History for fifteen. As a lifetime member of the private security
firm, Security Force, Waldo was a legend among his peers. His resumé was sterling. Now pushing 70, and a month away from
retirement (a retirement he could have taken a year before), Waldo Lipschitz
was put in charge of the security team to protect one of the world’s greatest
treasures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Good night, folks,” he
said, waving at the final museum patrons as they walked out the door. Before Waldo could lock the door, the museum
curator approached him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Waldo, thank you so
much for your assistance this evening.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s what I do,
ma’am.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m a little
late. There’s a museum after-party in
Deep Ellum tonight. This exhibit is the
best we’ve had in ages,” said the curator, putting on her coat. She walked to Waldo and gave him a sweet hug,
as if she were his daughter, or granddaughter.
“And I’m glad you’re in charge protecting it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It’s what I do,
ma’am,” Waldo said again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“We’ll see you in the
morning,” she said, dashing out into the wet Dallas night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPcGn3wdZ4jjEJwt3wtaPj1zOx1nNqKUcUVQDExJzTg6f6FiemCqaOe_D-0FM8tf_-IJSj4k7Cp8HcPhUzYSrC8BSU_apyYh-4tYC5DPOePYjH6NVFxIAKNvBfbf7FxuihfynigFHZe0/s1600/mumcop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="237" data-original-width="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPcGn3wdZ4jjEJwt3wtaPj1zOx1nNqKUcUVQDExJzTg6f6FiemCqaOe_D-0FM8tf_-IJSj4k7Cp8HcPhUzYSrC8BSU_apyYh-4tYC5DPOePYjH6NVFxIAKNvBfbf7FxuihfynigFHZe0/s1600/mumcop.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Be safe,” he called
out as she dashed out into the rain.
Lighting flashed in the sky before he closed the door. As he was locking it, the thunder
rolled. It’s deep reverberation muffled
only slightly by the closed door. In the
distance, a car alarm went off as the skybound rumble of thunder resonated
through the building.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m sure glad I am not
out in that mess,” he said, walking back to the front desk. It was his post, set up with an adequate
surveillance system. Seven TVs were set
up, in color, but a little fuzzy. Six
were scrolling through rooms throughout the museum. One monitor was dedicated to the main
exhibit, the Mictlantecuhtli showcase.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He picked up his CB
from his desk. “This is Lipschitz
calling to 1<sup>st</sup> Team.
Everybody accounted for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Roger,” came the reply
from the first team captain. He was an
obese man with immense confidence. “Both
our roving teammates have started their beat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lipschitz looked at his
monitor and confirmed the movement of 1<sup>st</sup> Team on the first floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“2<sup>nd</sup>
Team. Report.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“2<sup>nd</sup> Team
here. We are go. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His eyes found the
monitor and confirmed the statement. The
second floor was being patrolled by two members of 2<sup>nd</sup> Team.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The museum was on lock,
thanks to Waldo Lipschitz.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, then,” he
muttered to himself, picking up his smart phone. “Let’s upgrade my village.” He tapped on the screen of his smart phone,
touching the ‘Bash of Clans’ application icon.
The name of the creative team, F-5, sprung up in bold white letters on
the black screen before the illustrated ‘Bash of Clans’ loading screen
appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Waldo would never have
learned about the game had he not watched his granddaughter, Julia, playing it
on her phone. The family had come over
to visit one day, and little 10 year-old Julia’s face was staring into her
device. In an effort to reach out to
her, Waldo sat beside her and asked her what she was doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m playing ‘Bash of
Clans’,” she said. Then, she gave a
brief description of the gameplay before showing him how to play. After her demonstration, she asked, “Would
you like to try, Pawpaw?” Her smile
always warmed his heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Sure,” he had
replied. Taking the phone into his hand,
she helped guide him into the gameplay, and he quickly caught on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Hey, you’re pretty
good at this, Pawpaw,” she said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, you taught me well,
my dear.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She smiled big, before
giving her Pawpaw a big hug.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Bring it on, clans,”
he muttered, smiling, as his clan set-up was displayed on his screen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> A
light began to flash on his monitor hub.
It was a signal for movement in one of the exhibits. A silent alarm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “What?”
he muttered, tapping on his phone briefly to capture some of the digital coins
he had accumulated before putting it down and observing the monitor. He adjusted his glasses from the middle of
his nose up against his face with his index finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “What
the?” he whispered, shaking his head before looking back at the screen. He could not believe what he was seeing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
four mummies in the Michlantlecutli exhibit were moving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “What
the?” he whispered again. This time, he
lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
He tried to rationalize the situation.
In his mind, he was tired and hadn’t had a lot of rest this particular
week. Perhaps he was hallucinating.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Looking
again with clear eyes, he realized his eyes were not deceiving him. The mummies were rising and actually seemed to
be getting bigger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Waldo
could not confirm that fast enough because the monitor suddenly went
snowy. Then black and white bars bounced
up and down the screen before turning grey.
Then, the screen flipped completely black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Tapping
on the screen was not the most mechanical or practical way to get the monitor
working again. But Waldo did it
anyway. On the third tap, a small stream
of electricity snapped at his finger. He
withdrew it quickly, flapping it near his face.
He gulped. Looking at his finger,
a tiny black dot indicated the burn the bolt left on his finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Picking
up his CB, he called to Team 2 on the second floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
2 leader. Do you read me? Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “We
read you. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “There
is someone…” he didn’t want to say what he saw without confirmation. “There is movement in the new exhibit. I need your team to check it out. Over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “We’re
on it,” they replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Waldo’s
eyes were glued to the monitor as Team 2 left their post to go check the
report. The team passed through one
hallway to the next, floating through different monitors in the surveillance
hub like specters walking through walls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> As
the team approached the exhibit room, Waldo reached for his CB. “Team 2.
Do you read me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> They
stopped before advancing into the room to answer the CB. “We read you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Listen,
before you go in. I have to let you know
I think… I think the mummies are alive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> He
could see on the screen the Team 2 leader shaking and smacking his CB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You’re
breaking up, sir. I … hear… do you…
over…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Waldo
looked at the screen. From the shadows
emerged the mummies. Team 2 was
oblivious to their slow advance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
2! Team 2! Behind you!” yelled Waldo into the CB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “We
can’t… you… breaking up…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
2!” shouted Waldo before the video screen began to flip, become distorted, then
turned into a snowy field of scrambling white, gray, and black.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
2? Team 2,” said Waldo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> There
was no response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Reality
was setting in. Fear sunk its talons
into Waldo’s heart. There was a big
problem poured on his plate, and he knew he had to do something. He also knew he didn’t want to. He wanted to run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I’ve
got to do something,” he said. “Team 1
leader. Do you read me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Waldo. We heard the whole conversation. We just heard some screams from the second
floor. Phil just left. Joanne and I remain here, awaiting orders.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> That’s
when Phil ran by their desk, screaming in fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Phil
has just run by our desk,” said Team 1 leader.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I
see that,” said Waldo, watching Phil run through the monitors before running
past his very desk and out the front door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Phil
is gone,” said Waldo, trembling. Things
were quickly spiraling out of h</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">is control.
He had to do something. More than
anything, his reputation was at stake.
“I need you to go to the Mictlantecuhtli exhibit. Team 2 is in trouble. Something is up there and they need to be
stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “We’re
on our…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
1, do you read me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLaVJ6ojmZQoUkDcOoP9_I-ZsrxDRRJ01M3p0fLd5GoCeWkeBM5XE-YeFCLc6OEOObXuglIrggP11RrridJH5yChZ9Y9Et4j-owEso80lHMH7itxyIv8yWScXOW1FxaY_NYrGp-_p1Ds/s1600/Mummy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1121" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCLaVJ6ojmZQoUkDcOoP9_I-ZsrxDRRJ01M3p0fLd5GoCeWkeBM5XE-YeFCLc6OEOObXuglIrggP11RrridJH5yChZ9Y9Et4j-owEso80lHMH7itxyIv8yWScXOW1FxaY_NYrGp-_p1Ds/s320/Mummy.jpg" width="224" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “…need…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> It
was the same thing that happened before.
The mummies were closing in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Team
1, get out of there now! They’re near
you! The mummies! They’re near!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> No
reply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Waldo
looked at the screen that showed Team 1.
No only had their screen gone snowy, but so had all the other monitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Good
God,” said Waldo, turning to run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> But
standing in front of him, looming over him like a statue was one of the
mummies. It pulsed with a strange
energy. A light glow, an aura, dimly
illuminated the ancient preserved corpse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Please,”
whispered Waldo, raising his hands in submission.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
mummy raised its arm into the air and struck Waldo in the neck. A knockout nerve strike.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> At
the ancient exhibit, a mummy arrived by the featured Mictlantecuhtli relic, secured behind safety glass. Its glowing mummified fist punched the
barrier, shattering the glass before removing it from the display. The energy of the mystery power at work had
disabled the alarm system, allowing the relics to be removed with no one to
stop it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pN_2jm11lcWKKuGQDhYqvwb7zW6zd7yMEvKB_KL-J8zKuKLKjFP4V4rqzMM3EYtU-S1m-YjxZ6Y5MEJ39oTTqD1WsY5xLnhyphenhyphenKkMHlbRGZJ4sgtj2F2PAO-VEghpRgDoxUOsljnwiOkE/s1600/mumlucha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="488" data-original-width="660" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3pN_2jm11lcWKKuGQDhYqvwb7zW6zd7yMEvKB_KL-J8zKuKLKjFP4V4rqzMM3EYtU-S1m-YjxZ6Y5MEJ39oTTqD1WsY5xLnhyphenhyphenKkMHlbRGZJ4sgtj2F2PAO-VEghpRgDoxUOsljnwiOkE/s320/mumlucha.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b><u><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;">CHAPTER
1 – LUCHA LIBRE!<o:p></o:p></span></u></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Ladies
and gentlemen, this is your main event of the evening, scheduled for a ‘Best of
Three’ contest. A competitor wins a
round by pinfall or submission.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Oh,
man, I can’t wait!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> PJ
Homeslice stood and clapped in anxious anticipation for the match featuring his
cohort and good friend, the masked Mexican lucha libre legend, El Aire. He wasn’t the only one. Everyone in the crowd began clapping and
cheering for the match they’d all been waiting for. The San Uvalde Civic Center was warm with the
excited agitation of the hundreds of fans in attendance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “In
the blue corner to my left, weighing in at 86 kilos, fighting out of Cancun,
Quintana Roo, Mexico, Cangrejo Azul!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> A
chorus of boos resounded around the arena as Cangrejo Azul shouted <i>malditos</i> back at the audience booing
him. He was clad in a baby blue and
white-trimmed singlet and white boots, and his mask held the same scheme with
the image of a stylized crab on the forehead of the mask. Along the side of one white boot read
‘Cangrejo’. On the other boot,
‘Azul’. He pointed and shouted at one
old lady in the front row. A triple-A
battery hit him in the back, and he ran to the opposite side of the ring to
threaten the folks where he thought the projectile had come from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> There
was one exception to the jeering fans, however.
And much to PJ’s dismay, the guy was sitting right next to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yay!”
the dude shouted, jumping up and down. He
was a teen, but the light complexion of his face was not marked with pimples,
but a sea of freckles. He was making
Cangrejo’s crab claw gesture with his hands as he hopped around in joy. He glanced at PJ, smirking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “And
in the red corner,” said the announcer, pausing. The crowd’s response began to change from a
symphony of taunts to a cacophony of cheers.
“Weighing in at 86 kilos, from Villa Acuna, Coahuila, Mexico, he is The
King of the Skies, El Aire!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
crowd began to chant, “Aire! Aire! Aire!” as the caped lucha legend mounted a turnbuckle
and waved at the crowd. His spandex
pants were decorated with the colors of the Mexican flag: Red, White, and
Green. The eagle with the snake in its
beak standing on a cactus was near the top portion of his spandex pants near
the lower part of his back. His mask was
red, white, and green, with the emblem of the ancient country on his
forehead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">El Aire removed his
cape with a flourish, handing it to a ring attendant. Then, he launched himself from the turnbuckle
into a backflip, landing on his feet before gracefully rolling backwards and
popping back to his feet. The crowd
cheered with joy. Except the guy
standing by PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Boo!”
the guy shouted, giving El Aire two thumbs down and shaking them in the
air. “El Aire’s overrated, and so is his
workrate,” he said toward PJ. “Boo!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Your
mom’s overrated,” shouted PJ, flipping the guy off. His skinny pale finger wiggled in the air, and
his freckled face grimaced under his brown hair and brown eyes. “And so is <i>her</i> workrate.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
announcer stepped out of the ring and the bell rang, starting the first fall
match. The two luchadors circled each
other before tying up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire swiftly gained the upper hand with a tight arm drag, sending Cangrejo Azul
flying across the ring. Cangrejo got to
his feet swiftly and grappled with El Aire again. And again, El Aire sent Cangrejo to the
canvas with an arm drag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Why
do you like Cangrejo Azul so much?” asked PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Because
El Aire’s overrated!” shouted the fan of Cangrejo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You
don’t even know what you’re talking about, stupid,” said PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul sprung to his feet again and dashed to El Aire, only to be greeted with
a drop toe-hold. Cangrejo Azul fell face first on the mat,
grabbing his nose, stunned. It gave El
Aire the opportunity to slide over Cangrejo’s body and grab a side headlock on
the mat. He locked it in and cranked it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “See?”
said PJ. “That’s scientific wrestling
right there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
other dude just sneered. “There’s lots
of match left out there, buddy boy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul, stuck in the headlock, managed to work himself and El Aire back to their
feet. He then broke El Aire’s headlock
by forcefully shoving him off of his slick neck and into the ropes. El Aire bounced back and was met with a punch
to the mouth, knocking him flat on his back.
The ref immediately jumped in, chastising Cangrejo Azul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yay!”
cried out the Cangrejo Azul fan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Hey!”
yelled PJ. “Get in there, ref! Closed fist!
That’s illegal!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul began to kick at the prone body of El Aire, stomping and punching the
lucha hero. He turned to the fans and
mocked them, receiving an immediate response of negativity and anger. He smiled, then laughed, making a rude gesture
to the crowd before turning back to El Aire, who was slowly rising. Cangrejo Azul caught El Aire with a kick to
the solar plexus, keeling El Aire over before scooping El Aire up into the air
and slamming his body to the mat.
Standing by his head, Cangrejo Azul jumped into the air, delivering a legdrop
across the neck and face of El Aire. The
<i>rudo</i> covered El Aire, hooking a leg,
only to have El Aire kick out at two. He
harrumphed, standing back up.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC68jCK_tEabrVEv2ojC9Do81Zk3YBU_S4_RcVPfzkXS7Wl7njlwk8ndlT7mh9YKCBHAoGG_12FHT0ghgFNktLlZMtCrJR_bGugMPvkZeQk4Z8DrL5YzIVGMXvxU3A-LmcIcGHcDEfFEg/s1600/mumluchasanto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC68jCK_tEabrVEv2ojC9Do81Zk3YBU_S4_RcVPfzkXS7Wl7njlwk8ndlT7mh9YKCBHAoGG_12FHT0ghgFNktLlZMtCrJR_bGugMPvkZeQk4Z8DrL5YzIVGMXvxU3A-LmcIcGHcDEfFEg/s320/mumluchasanto.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cangrejo Azul picked up
El Aire and twisted El Aire’s body with his, punishing El Aire with an
abdominal stretch. El Aire cried out in
pain. Cangrejo Azul punched El Aire’s
ribcage as the fans began to clap for El Aire.
After a few more moments in the hold, Cangrejo Azul punched El Aire
right in the mouth, flooring the luchador yet again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Again!”
shouted the guy. PJ took a deep breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
punches had struck El Aire in just the right spot, dazing the luchador and
giving Cangrejo Azul the opportunity to start punishing him. He picked El Aire off the mat and flung him
to the ropes. El Aire bounced off the
barriers toward Cangrejo Azul, who had already started to run at El Aire, ready
to deliver a clothesline. But El Aire
ducked under the strike, bounding to the ring ropes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul turned around to see El Aire taking flight. Careening horizontally towards Cangrejo Azul,
El Aire struck his rival with a flying headbutt, connecting square across
Cangrejo Azul’s chest. The blow sent
Cangrejo Azul to his back. Not only did
the aerial move take the starch out of Cangrejo Azul, but the fall flat on his
back knocked the air out of him. El Aire
adeptly took the cover, hooking a leg with both arms and positioning all his
weight over Cangrejo Azul’s chest, pinning his shoulders to the mat. Cangrejo Azul struggled to break the pinfall
to no avail, and the ref counted three, awarding the first fall to El Aire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “There
you go, stupid,” shouted PJ. “First fall
goes to El Aire.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “He’s
still got to get one more,” said the dude as the luchadors prepared to vie for
the second fall. After a few moments of
awkward silence between the rival fans, the bell rang again and the two Mexican
luchadors tied up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul cinched on a headlock on El Aire, tightening the hold around El Aire’s
head. He turned his back on the referee
and promptly punched El Aire in the mouth several times. The referee tried to get a better view of
what was happening, but was met by a grumpy Cangrejo Azul, who sustained the headlock
and whined, “What are you looking at?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Ref! He punched him!” shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No,
he didn’t!” shouted the dude.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
referee chided Cangrejo Azul, who ignored the official and dashed across the
ring with El Aire still in the headlock.
Cangrejo Azul jumped into the air before landing on the mat, smashing El
Aire’s head and face into the canvas with the bulldog maneuver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Pin
him!” shouted the fan. PJ was
nervous. But the ref only got to two
when El Aire kicked out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted PJ. His heart beat in his chest
with nervous excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
punishment on El Aire continued as Cangrejo Azul stomped on El Aire’s lower
back. PJ cringed as Cangrejo Azul picked
El Aire up and shot him into the ropes.
On the rebound, Cangrejo Azul caught his rival in his arms and spun El
Aire in the air before dropping the <i>tecnico</i>,
back first, over his knee with the tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. El Aire shouted in pain as Cangrejo Azul held
his rival over his knee, holding El Aire’s legs down while pushing down on his
head by the jaw. The stress position
coupled with the pain from the backbreaker was very unpleasant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “El
Aire’s going to quit,” taunted the guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No,
he’s not,” replied PJ before shouting, “C’mon, Aire!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul released the hold by delivering a Mongolian Chop to El Aire’s solar plexus
before tossing him to the mat. That’s
when Cangrejo Azul turned to the jeering crowd and taunted them with his crab
claw hand gesture. The crowd began to
boo loudly. But not the guy by PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yay!”
he shouted, making the crab-claw hand gesture.
PJ just shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul picked up El Aire by his mask. El
Aire tried to respond with punches to Cangrejo Azul’s stomach to no avail. Cangrejo Azul kneed El Aire in his belly and whipped
El Aire into the ropes. Cangrejo Azul
ducked his head in preparation to back body drop El Aire. But instead, El Aire leapfrogged Cangrejo
Azul, hurdling his foe and dashing to the ropes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Wondering
what just happened, Cangrejo Azul stood up and turned around. El Aire had already rebounded off the ropes
and had taken flight, smacking Cangrejo Azul in the head with a flying forearm
strike. Cangrejo Azul fell to the mat,
where El Aire went for a pinfall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> PJ
shouted, “Yes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> But
it wasn’t enough for three. The crowd
was shouting encouragement for El Aire as he slowly rose to his feet, holding
his back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “He’s
going to get him,” shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
other guy just smirked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire picked up Cangrejo Azul and shot his rival into the ropes. As Cangrejo Azul hit the ropes, moments from
rebounding, El Aire jumped into the air, prepping to catch Cangrejo Azul with a
huracanrana, a type of flying headscissors hold that flings a foe headfirst to
the canvas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> It
was the experience of Cangrejo Azul that countered the throw by simply stopping
his forward motion, hooking his arms around the top rope to stop his
rebound. Already floating in space, El
Aire had no one to catch in his risky flying hold. So gravity took the wheel, dropping El Aire
flat on his already-injured back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted the guy, jumping up and down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> They
both knew what was next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul reached for El Aire’s legs as El Aire groaned on the mat, holding the back
of his head, stunned. Cangrejo laced El
Aire’s legs at the ankles and stuck both legs under one arm by the ankles. He then walked over El Aire’s body, putting
the lucha legend on his belly. With the
leg lace secured under his arm, Cangrejo Azul sat down on El Aire’s lower
back. He leaned back, putting an immense
amount of pressure on El Aire’s lower back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted the guy. “The Blue Crab
Hold! The Blue Crab Hold!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> PJ
still stood with his hands on the back of his head as El Aire surrendered to
the hold, tapping out vigorously on the mat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuGALQKJjS38gNPklPbhh8cPgLrbg9g7rs1ICozP5LmlcG-mEkzEiNltAQlPJ1ANVG-XQo00f-0RdUWiCm3oAydIxQjS2Q7xHmXOdrA6bUBHmzoRZfDLOapQs9w9aDvdQkZ7DaaFz7nE/s1600/mumluchalib.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="535" data-original-width="800" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuGALQKJjS38gNPklPbhh8cPgLrbg9g7rs1ICozP5LmlcG-mEkzEiNltAQlPJ1ANVG-XQo00f-0RdUWiCm3oAydIxQjS2Q7xHmXOdrA6bUBHmzoRZfDLOapQs9w9aDvdQkZ7DaaFz7nE/s320/mumluchalib.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted the dude again. “Cangrejo’s got
this now.” He then pointed at PJ and
laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Groaning,
PJ shook his head again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> As
Cangrejo broke his signature hold, letting El Aire loose, El Aire rolled right
out of the ring to the floor. He
grumbled, positioned on one knee, rubbing his back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> This is bad news</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">,
thought PJ. <i>Bad news.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul had been taunting the crowd when he noticed El Aire’s injured state on the
ground. Climbing out of the ring, he
took the boots to El Aire, stomping on his back. Fans threw paper cups at Cangrejo Azul. One was full, and it splashed across his
chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You
don’t like that?” he shouted at the crowd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I
do,” said the guy by PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Then
you’ll hate this,” he shouted, lifting up his elbow and dropping it on El
Aire’s lower back. El Aire groaned in
pain as Cangrejo Azul climbed into the ring.
He charged at the ref, grabbing him by the shirt, shouting, “Ring the
bell! Start the match now!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No!”
shouted PJ. The ref nodded and signaled
for the bell. The bell rang and El Aire
was still on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “One,”
shouted the ref over the ring ropes by El Aire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Get
up!” shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Two!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Get
up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Three!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “C’mon,
El Aire. Get up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Four!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Stay
down,” cried the dude, with a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Five!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire began to pick himself up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Six!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes! C’mon, El Aire!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire had lifted himself to his knees, holding on to the apron.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Eight!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire picked himself up, climbed to the apron, and rolled in by the nine count.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!” Thank you, God,” groaned PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire hadn’t had a chance to get to his feet when he was met with boots to his
back by Cangrejo Azul.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “He’s
done,” said the guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No,
he’s not,” said PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> For
the next few minutes, Cangrejo Azul abused El Aire, punishing his lower back
with kicks, stomps, and throws. PJ was
cringing with every strike, lock, or toss.
Several times, Cangrejo Azul secured a lock on El Aire’s body, only to
have the Mexican great he was beating down break the hold by grabbing the
ropes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Lifting
El Aire off the mat, Cangrejo Azul launched El Aire to the ropes. On the rebound, Cangrejo Azul caught El Aire
in a tilt-a-whirl sidewalk slam, planting El Aire into the mat. PJ could hear El Aire groan as Cangrejo Azul
went for a pinfall. El Aire kicked out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Slapping
his hands in anger, Cangrejo Azul then grabbed El Aire and lifted him off the
mat and flung him to the ropes again. He
caught El Aire on the rebound, but this time, El Aire was ready. Flying into the tilt-a-whirl again, El Aire
changed his momentum just enough to secure one of Cangrejo Azul’s arms. Still flying, he used his momentum to fling
Cangrejo Azul to the mat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Quickly
getting to his feet, Cangrejo Azul dashed straight at El Aire, who was ready
for the aggression. This time, El Aire
used Cangrejo Azul’s motion to flip him to the mat with a Japanese arm drag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Realizing
the momentum change, Cangrejo Azul swiftly rolled out of the ring. He waved off El Aire, walking around the
ring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Get
back in there, you big chicken!” shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You
shut your stupid mouth, <i>gringo</i>!”
Cangrejo replied, pointing a finger at PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You
shut yours, stupid,” said PJ, pointing one back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Oh,
you got me there,” said Cangrejo Azul, getting in PJ’s face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “That
comeback did kind of suck,” mumbled PJ, moving away from the luchador. That’s when he noticed El Aire had got to his
feet and had bounced off the opposite ropes, running toward them from the ring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Whoa!”
shouted PJ, moving out of the way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Look
out!” shouted the guy, pointing at the ring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “What?”
said Cangrejo Azul, turning back towards the ring. There was nothing he could do at that
point. El Aire had already taken flight,
diving headlong at Cangrejo Azul.
Cangrejo Azul tried to block the <i>tope
suicida</i> to no avail. El Aire crashed
head first into Cangrejo Azul’s chest, knocking him into the abandoned
chairs. El Aire had struck Cangrejo Azul
with a powerful blow. But now, on the
floor, he began to clutch his back again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Get
up, El Aire!” shouted PJ as the ref started the count again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “One.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “C’mon,
El Aire. Get up!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Two.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul was recovering slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Three.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire remained on the floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Four.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul had recovered faster than El Aire and slowly moved to the luchador.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Five.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul reached El Aire and picked him up by the mask. El Aire still clutched at his back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Six.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No!”
shouted PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes!”
shouted the guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> The
two were crying out because Cangrejo Azul had scooped up El Aire and
body-slammed him on the arena floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “No!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Yes! Yes!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> Cangrejo
Azul made a rude gesture with his chin and hand at the crowd before rolling
into the ring at the eight count.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Get
up, El Aire!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “He’s
not getting up,” said the guy, laughing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Nine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire tried to pick himself up, but he only got as far as the ring apron,
clutching his back as the ref counted ten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Aw,
man,” said PJ as the bell rang, ending the third fall and securing the win for
Cangrejo Azul. “That was a cheap win and
you know it,” he said, glaring at the guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “A
win’s a win, man,” said the guy, pointing and laughing at PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> PJ
rose from his seat and worked his way to the aisle as the announcer said, “Here
is the winner of the third fall via countout, Cangrejo Azul!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Bye-bye,
chump,” said the guy as PJ walked off toward the entrance to the dressing
rooms. The arena booed Cangrejo Azul,
who was soaking it up, making his crab hand gesture as he returned to the
dressing room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire had already worked his way halfway up the aisle as PJ reached the dressing
room entrance. El Aire acknowledged fans
and saw PJ. He nodded at him, knowing PJ
had work for him. PJ returned the
nod. After a few moments of greeting
fans, El Aire approached PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “You
going to be alright, <i>amigo</i>?” asked
PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I’ll
be fine,” El Aire replied. “What do you
got for me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Something
good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkY4GtyQX-uhC5f1xTpsUV1u0amB73qc2obrtjuEEkHSSb2UlfIaqXieWgGu55Mq5NMAGhtmylphyeefOc1G3OC-KPs6LpncWzg2aukMKkQAi4WfkCwMsV81SANgKNi91kZIBtOKMJUo/s1600/mumwoman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="619" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkY4GtyQX-uhC5f1xTpsUV1u0amB73qc2obrtjuEEkHSSb2UlfIaqXieWgGu55Mq5NMAGhtmylphyeefOc1G3OC-KPs6LpncWzg2aukMKkQAi4WfkCwMsV81SANgKNi91kZIBtOKMJUo/s320/mumwoman.jpg" width="193" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire nodded, still rubbing his back.
“Great. Meet me at the Montana
Bar in an hour. We’ll talk there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Roger
that,” said PJ.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Excuse
me,” said a woman’s voice behind PJ.
Both of them turned to see who it was.
Their eyes gave away their excitement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Good
evening,” said the woman. “My name is
Elvira Mata.” She offered her hand. El Aire took it and kissed it. The sweetest floral fragrance graced his
senses, a much needed contrast to the sweat and grime of the wrestling contest,
a literal breath of fresh air compared to the brawny aroma and rancid smell of
sweaty knee pads of the competitors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> El
Aire grinned at Elvira, taking in her figure.
Her little black dress was low cut with a diving neckline that fell just
below her breasts. Her black high heels
had suggestions of glitter, and El Aire suspected she was wearing thigh-highs
and garters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> She
smiled back devilishly, saying, “I’d like to personally invite you to the San
Uvalde Museum grand opening of a special exhibit tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “I
heard about that,” said El Aire. “The
recently discovered San Uvalde mummies will be on display. Is that right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Correct,”
she said. Her voice was laced with a
honey El Aire greatly appreciated. “I’m
one of the sponsors. We would be honored
with your presence.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Thank
you,” said El Aire. “I’ll be there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> With
a smile and a wink, the woman walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> PJ
stood, hypnotized, watching her glide away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “Wake
up, <i>hermano</i>,” said El Aire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> “But
I’m dreaming,” said PJ.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> “No,
you weren’t,” said El Aire. “Go meet me
at The Montana Bar. I’ll see you there.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">========</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">What will PJ tell El Aire at the Montana Bar? Find out by picking up your copy of 'El Aire vs. The Mummies of San Uvalde' today <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Aire-vs-Mummies-San-Uvalde/dp/1533203474/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501880243&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+mummies" target="_blank">HERE in Paperback or Kindle</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Click on the book cover to go straight to the order page on Amazon.com.</span></div>
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<b>BOWIE V. IBARRA </b>is a prolific writer who makes his home in San Antonio, Texas. He is the progenitor of the 'Tex-Mexploitation' genre whose books include such first wave zombie horror classics as the 'Down the Road' saga. Network with Bowie at his official website, <a href="http://www.zbfbooks.com/" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com </a>and pick up a book today!</div>
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-86121278605977032652017-02-01T16:32:00.001-08:002017-02-01T16:43:32.100-08:00BLOOD: CHUD fan fiction - 'Strangest Things'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4tN5lmQdy0unfgOIvvxACM6yUgWHlW1if8PM6nn5qKphfukFZzgQ61mMtnpbNEhmd1ekUJWNyxt80_5HHTmlhcgKKufMw24I-GFhCEtEWHKzACcJykND3JMXYpK4e_KDf2Mvs1hxFxU/s1600/CHUD_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4tN5lmQdy0unfgOIvvxACM6yUgWHlW1if8PM6nn5qKphfukFZzgQ61mMtnpbNEhmd1ekUJWNyxt80_5HHTmlhcgKKufMw24I-GFhCEtEWHKzACcJykND3JMXYpK4e_KDf2Mvs1hxFxU/s320/CHUD_poster.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">STRANGEST
THINGS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">BY<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">BOWIE V.
IBARRA AND MAXIMILLIAN MEEHAN<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Copyright 2017 Bowie Ibarra, Maximillian Meehan</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Hey,
Goldie. You hear about that explosion in
SoHo?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
man at the business end of the question curled his lip into his trademark
repugnant condescension, revealing the root of his moniker – a gold-capped
incisor. Goldie responded through the stogie tucked tightly into the corner of
his mouth, every syllable blowing out cheap smoke with a Brooklyn accent, “What
do you think? You know I got the scanner in here, ain’t nothin’ better to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Goldie was
the man perpetually planted in the window of a lunch-style truck parked in a
bombed out lot beside a similarly-scorched brownstone. He’d been in that same
location for a good five years at that point, emerging as a fixture shortly
after the building which had previously been occupied the lot met its demise at
the flaming tip of the all too common killer known as ‘Jewish lightning.’ The
lot was cleared shortly after flames had brought the tenement to the ground,
but nothing ever rose in its place. And so, the lot had remained open – a plain-but-professional
‘FOR SALE’ sign peeked up in its corner with a phone number that the kids in
the neighborhood found suitable for pranking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And then
there were the adult denizens of the area had come to regard the space as some
sort of dump. Weeds and brush grow out and around various couches, mattresses,
tires, and several junker cars to create no vacancy. But a quarter of the lot
belonged to Goldie. No one was sure if he was paying rent for the plot. He
never harassed anybody who might be making an odd trash deposit behind him, but
he might sell them a bratwurst, or a cup of coffee. Hell, maybe he wasn’t
supposed to be there after all, either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His super
leaded brew and various greasy items mainly dwelled in the bellies of folks
returning from a Manhattan club at some nauseating hour, in search of something
to soak up the alcohol. His food wasn’t particularly good. He wasn’t even
charming or particularly good smelling either. His presence was reliable in
spite of apparent mobility, which he rarely took advantage of. But it was
perhaps his cartoonish marketing, which he’d spent ample time on, which drew
eyes and feet in his direction.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLptTElN6BaanBDaS0DRPcqOXxAxjkg9mwhX6Y1hiwhQ5jhyphenhyphenYgaf7C_sPWi4kxn6lDWTYCa0Eaqc4j6Mmx4Y7BDiI5NmKs9-rtkk0cHn8Aq7I03YOWjj9_lm68NzFHJ-7SvagLWS-DUSw/s1600/chud1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLptTElN6BaanBDaS0DRPcqOXxAxjkg9mwhX6Y1hiwhQ5jhyphenhyphenYgaf7C_sPWi4kxn6lDWTYCa0Eaqc4j6Mmx4Y7BDiI5NmKs9-rtkk0cHn8Aq7I03YOWjj9_lm68NzFHJ-7SvagLWS-DUSw/s1600/chud1.jpg" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
lettering was simple and bold enough. Outlined
in tarnished gold, it read, ‘WURST BRAT.’ Nothing special, unlike the
strikingly child-like curmudgeon statue attached to the top of the truck. The regulars
had collectively named the plaster mascot “Frankie” – a Looney Tune delinquent
with a ginger flat top, aiming an ACME slingshot with a large wiener pinched
between his fingers at some unfortunate target below. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">All day and,
apparently, night, Frankie and Goldie stood watch from their lot in the heart
of the Bronx, the police scanner blasting from the serving window with a steady
current of acrid stogie smoke.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bobby ‘The
Boxer,’ a regular at Goldie’s window, was the man who’d asked the question. His
nose was facing five o’clock, and his teeth were a mangled set of black and
white keys. He’d obviously taken a few shots to the mug in his time, but it was
anybody’s guess as to whether or not he earned his name for some sort of
background in pugilism, or if it was simply because he looked like some kind of
British dog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Goldie
slid a glossy bratwurst piled high through the window. The Boxer unwittingly
unraveled a typical home for pestilence as he poured sauerkraut on his dogs from
a plastic jar on the outside counter as he asked, “So’s that’s why I’m asking.
You got the skinny, or what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Goldie
hemmed, “They been trying to use some kind of code, but it ain’t been hard to
crack. I was in the field, back in Korea, ya know. So, it’s basic. But from
what I can tell, I think they’re smoking out some kind of hippie cult under
City Hall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“’Hippie
cult’? What?!” echoed Bobby with a grin, as if he were waiting for a punchline.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah, you
know, bunch of them mole folks.” Goldie shrugged with a speculative tone as he
produced another shimmering hot dog, this one on a bun and drenched in some
sort of cheese that wasn’t really cheese. “Don’t sound like your usual bums,
though. Probably militarized, or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bobby received
the other dog with a distracted grin, “You don’t say?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Lots of
people down there in them tunnels,” said Goldie. “Lots of them. Ain’t as
fortunate as a guy like me. They come back from Korea, Nam. Nowhere to go. No
job. Can’t fit in. They’re brains been retweaked for war. But when they come
back, nobody fixes ‘em. Because nobody can. Can’t undo that kind of thing.
Believe me, I know. These fellas, they’re still wired for war. Get enough of em
together, they start to fall into the only thing they know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">By the end
of Goldie’s point, Bobby’s smile had diminished. “Could be,” he shrugged.
Goldie grinned, flashing his tooth. Bobby slid the man a Lincoln. “Keep the
change,” he uttered as he turned away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bobby took
a seat at the carved-up lunch table nearby as Summer, a well-manicured Puerto
Rican woman in her twenties, approached the window. Goldie croaked, warm and
familiar, “Hey, doll, what can I get ya this evening?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Summer’s
glistening red lips broke into an infectious smile. “A cup of that nuclear waste
you call coffee might get me through tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With the
nudge of his leathery fingers, Goldie materializes a smoldering cup of Joe
toward the lovely young woman in the fur-trimmed coat and dangling earrings. Her
smile grew two sizes as the vendor purred, “I could smell that perfume of yours
a coming two blocks away, beautiful. On the house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Summer
blushed and thanked the old man before joining Bobby at the table as he stuffed
meat casing into his crooked face. She
chirped, “Hey, Bobby, how you doing tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He answered
through the slop, “Better than you’re gonna be when you find out the trains
ain’t runnin’!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah?”
Summer took her first sip of the powerful caffeinated concoction, “Do tell?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well, if
you’re working tonight, you’re walking. Trains are down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Savvy,
Summer fires back with a pang of exhaustion in her voice, “Yeah, well, I’m
coming, not going.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bobby’s
eyes widened, “You walked that bridge?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Well,
I obviously didn’t swim it. Anyway, Rico walked me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh, yeah?”
Bobby remarked as he began to dig into his second dog, “He doing okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She sighed,
“Losing his damn mind. You shoulda heard the stuff he was trying to feed me
tonight on the walk back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Bobby
snickered, “Lay it on me, sister.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Rico was
saying that the reason the trains was shut down was because some heavy dudes in
big suits is hunting something in the tunnels.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Suits?”
he quizzed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.”
Summer lit a cigarette as she struggled. “You know, not like uptown. Like, big
yellow suits, like they was handling waste.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Bobby’s
brow went flatter than last night’s beer. “HAZMAT?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Summer
shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He shot
back, dead-pan, “Hazardous materials.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Hazardous
something, that’s damn true. Some kind of mutants down there, or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
Boxer chortled through a mouth full of sauerkraut, curdling his breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Go ahead
and laugh, you can go up to Marble Hills and ask one of them Black Pearls, that
is if you can find one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Bobby
took the bait, iniquiring, “What’s that supposed to mean?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Summery
obliged with a serious air. “Rico told me that one of them things they’re
hunting down there climbed out of some storm drain. The Pearls tried to jump
it. Wound up getting cut up pretty bad and losing a lot of brothers, but they
eventually got it. Out’a eighteen of them, only three of the Pearls made it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Eavesdropping
all along, Goldie bellowed from his perch at the window, “Guess their choir got
cut to a trio.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Summer shot
a glacial look back at the old man, but his amusement was unfazed. The Black
Pearls, an all-Asian street gang from a neighboring borough weren’t necessarily
dear friends. In fact, the neighborhood Nomads had run their soldiers out of
the Bronx many times over the years. Nevertheless, there was a grudging respect
toward anybody who wears any color and guards the parameter of their
neighborhood from ill elements. It could have just as well been Rico zipped in
a bag with his throat torn out by one of those things, and it still could be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Summer
scolded back, “We’ll see if you’re still laughing when those things start
sniffing around your truck. All the blasting they been doing down there is driving
them into the streets and God knows where else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Goldie
smirked, flashing his tooth again, but another gleam drew Bobby and Summer’s
eye to the old man’s hand on the counter as it laid a nickle-plated 357 beside
the ketchup and mustard pumps. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “Yeah,
well, when they do, I got something that ain’t on the menu for ‘em.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">II.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
trademark denim-clad Greasy Greg Neeley sat at the top of the stairs,
double-knotting his long Converse laces behind his ankles – a religious
practice he’d taken to after catching the dangling strands in his BMX chain
earlier this year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg was
what the other kids at school called a “hasher” – a misfit among even the other
freshmen, whom he’d alienated through his interest in the most extreme heavy
metal. His denim vest, sewn over a dirty maroon hoody, bore meticulously
arranged patches and band badges, from Kreator, to the more obscure Cathedral.
But his back patch – an ode to Slayer’s ‘Haunting in the Chapel’ was a true
masterpiece, which Greg had managed to render by hand on a white shirt using
markers and acrylic paints. Overall, the likeness hinted at a real talent, but
the mixed medium had been diminished by the elements over time. Nevertheless,
he flew the flag proudly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ironically,
his ‘uniform’ hit all the right notes. He represented no false metal. He took
great pride in the quality and arrangement of the band pins and patches that
lined his ‘battle’ vest. Wrists clad in spiked bracelets, and a few morbid
rings – one a raven, and the other, a tarnished skull. His hair – at the center
of relentless teasing, even spawning the infamous ‘Greasy Greg’ taunt – had
grown out to a proud length over the last summer, and created quite the
head-banging spectacle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Still, in
spite of the nuance and dedication to it all, Greg was, for the most part, a
complete and total slob. Some might say Greg was a class-A weirdo and probably
sacrificed hamsters in effort to summon Beelezebub in his spare time. Perhaps
certain contemporaries of the more conservative persuasion avoided Greg out of
a certain fear toward the morbid wrapped around him, but if you stripped away
the studs and the Satanic imagery, people would probably still avoid him. The
bottom line was that he was hygienically challenged to a point of repulsion.
The onset of puberty had long since passed by, but Greg’s grooming habits never
really evolve passed what he had developed during mere boyhood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
harbored some deep-seeded shame about his acrid qualities, but making excuses
is always easier than consistent action. Indeed, he had woven a powerful defense
to go with his smell; that it was a part of his rebel persona; that it was a
defensive and offensive trademark, in a way. It was the smell of ‘The Beast,’
and if it kept casualties of the system at bay, then it was worth stewing in
his own filth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
morning, as Greg sat at the top of the steps, a report from the blaring kitchen
television came in. He’d been glued to the news since the wild news about the
caves, and had even began clipping out articles on the gruesome details
regarding the body that had been discovered at the mouth of Green Briar’s
Natural Oddyssey Caverns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg hadn’t
visited the Caverns since his father was alive, but he’d been consistently
enough as a boy that he had both fond and vivid recollections of the natural
attraction. Aside from the town’s pig slaughtering and meat casing industries,
the Natural Oddyssey caverns were one of the things Greenbriar was best known
for. Truthfully, it was the less embarrassing of the two earmarks. Beyond that,
families from the city would routinely make the trek up to the small town,
which brought a nice year-round influx of tourist dollar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Several
days ago though, that one sacred attraction took a hook to the gut when the
remains of one of the tour guides was found. Details were initially
sketchy. But small town people are
generally prone to talk, and it wasn’t long before someone who knows somebody
whose cousin handled ‘the pieces’ started to trickle into the conversation that
revolves around those Rockwellian dinner scenes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A seeker of
morbid curiosities and extremism, Greg was naturally peaked by the graphic
details, which involved heavy disembowelment and dismemberment. That blood and
entrails would be smeared across the cavernous walls of a revered childhood
haunt made it all the more tantalizing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
remembered as a kid hearing reports that they’d found mountain lion bones deep
in the caverns, and that was the first thing that leapt to his mind when he’d
heard about the fatal mauling. However, some of the town’s people with fairly
specific interests tied to the local church didn’t have to do much to churn the
horrific discovery into total hysteria. Less credible rumors of satanic ritual
murder had begun to make the rounds, and went just short of suggesting that
Natural Oddyssey Caverns was the gateway to the McMartin preschool tunnels.
Greg was certain any day now, he and his friends would probably find themselves
down at the station being interrogated as natural suspects, due to their
devotion to ‘devil music.’ He and his friends, Stoney and Jacob, had joked about
it in the past twelve hours. And while
they were sure to make a point to laugh, there was a certain nervous pang to
it.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There
weren’t any new updates as far as Greg could hear this morning, so he made
stealthy toward the front door, slipping away like a spy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Outside,
Greg climbed onto his Mongoose bike and began peddling around the side of the
house and toward the driveway when something large pelted him in the side of
the skull with a crunch. The distraction and the force combined was enough to
knock the boy off his bike, and send him palms-first into the gravel path.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His hands
burned, and Greg immediately knew he was bleeding as he popped back up. What he
heard next made his ears hot – his stepfather’s raspy, Woody Woodpecker cackle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg had
assumed that his stepfather, Joe was at his usual post in the kitchen in front
of the television, pretending to comb the want ads while his mother made
breakfast before leaving for her job at the meat packing factory. He had
assumed wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fuming, Greg’s
eyes immediately fell on a brown paper lunch sack on the side of the driveway.
His brain quickly fused the pieces together as he wiped his bleeding palms off
on his sleeves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There stood
Joe, near the garage, smoking a cigarette. Joe was definitive white trash –
sinewy and long-armed, and usually barefoot, with a wild-eyed expression under
a bushy head of hair. He taunted smugly, “Don’t forget your lunch, Greg.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg kicked
the bag back at his stepfather before grabbing his bike to ride away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Joe
sneered, already revving up for his next encounter with the kid. With a North
Carolina twang, he crowed, “Awe! You’re gonna hurt your mama’s feelings, now!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
flipped the bird as he rode away, and he was too scared to look back and check
for Joe’s reaction. He knew better. He also knew he’d probably regret it later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">II - B<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg came
speeding around the bend of the hill, stood upright, when he spotted his
accomplices parked in their usual spot at the abandoned roadside rest stop.
Greg settled back onto his seat to some degree of relief as he peddled toward his
friends. If this had been two weeks ago, there would have been zero trepidation
while approaching their usual meet-up point. But with the town currently in the grip of a
full-on Satanic panic, Neeley wouldn’t be surprised if there was a sudden
change in routine one of these mornings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fellow
soldiers in the metal militia, Jake and Stoney sat on the vandalized lunch
table. Their so-called uniforms barely deviated from Greg’s in nature – all
denim, spikes, patches, and pins, with a few deviations in band taste, which
were still respectable among this particular brood. Their heads lightly banging
to the faint tempo blasting from their Walkman headphones, they didn’t even
notice Greg’s steady approach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
identity of these three teenagers might blend if not for the radical variations
in their physical appearance. Greasy Greg was easy to peg for his stink and
struggling acne problem, but he was also much more slight in frame than
fair-haired Jake. In fact, Jake’s allegiance toward his life-long friends
probably kept him out of more conventional social circles. He was a
good-looking square-jawed kid. His
physique was the epitome of a cornfed, lil’ Abner type. He was also group’s lynch
pin. No one dared mess with Greg or Stoney for fear of incurring Jake's wrath. His stature intimidated even the athletic set.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLUg8BkLG6tFJWRWtCYiOPnLtMEvd0S5phLepHNZtbvRO-IYeCbEbC6k9UUM0mI19JL59zGu17H-7lcpkDm2n7CEuNwqLeqgl7EFRZlL6g_xGAiPgXIyYt5pqP9y0CdMwEAxKEVFnGME/s1600/chud2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfLUg8BkLG6tFJWRWtCYiOPnLtMEvd0S5phLepHNZtbvRO-IYeCbEbC6k9UUM0mI19JL59zGu17H-7lcpkDm2n7CEuNwqLeqgl7EFRZlL6g_xGAiPgXIyYt5pqP9y0CdMwEAxKEVFnGME/s320/chud2.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And then on
the opposite-end of the spectrum was the sweet-faced, baby blubber-covered
Stoney – an easy target, but perhaps the most charismatic somehow. This had to
do with the fact that he was the brightest of the three. Stoney had a gift for
speaking. He’d talked his way out of numerous precarious spots over the years. At
one point, he’d even managed to convince his grandparents of heavy metal’s
merits as a modern day evolution of classical music, due mainly to its
virtuosity. He insisted it exhibited far more class than the low-brow pop
garbage they might see on American Band Stand. His weight was a little ironic,
though, and both Greg and Jake had wondered privately to one another why he was
so big when he rode more than twelve miles to and from school every day – by
far the longest distance any of the trio had to peddle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
dismounted from his Mongoose in his usual calamitous way, allowing his bike to
crash into a nearby table. Moments later, he was lighting up a Marlboro.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Stoney hit
stop on his Walkman, and lifted his head, “You ready, or what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Still
fuming from his encounter with his stepfather, Greg responded, “In a minute,
alright?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake sensed
the tension from over the high volume of his mixtape, and hit stop, too. He queried,
“You alright?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Nothing”
Greg stonewalled. “Just Joe being an idiot. The usual.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake and
Stoney knew the drill, and they proceeded to let a bit of time pass so their
friend could wind down before they started their ride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake broke
the ice. “So, either of you racing home after the bell today?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
replied first, “Not particularly. Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
replied, cool and casual. “Bill Farr said he found a big honkin’ stack of
nudity books down on old Creek Road yesterday. Probably been cherry picked by now,
but I thought it might be worth checking out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
replied, “Then what, we just take turns holding each other out in the woods
while we look at the pictures?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake shot
back, “Maybe we can find some broads.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Listen to
James Cagney and Lacey over here. “Broads.” Who says broads?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Exhaling a
halo of carbon, Greg interjected, loosening up with a grin, “Wouldn’t that make
you Lacey, Stoney?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
laughed. Stoney fired back, “That’s preferable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake asked,
“To what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
answered confidently, “To going out to some cold-ass woods and poking a pile of
used horny books with a stick. You don’t know where those things have been or
what someone did to or on them. It’s sick, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
attempted to ease Jake’s fuming. “Wouldn’t mind riding out there anyway. My old
man once showed me some area with some caves near the creek that ran into the
caverns.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
arched an eyebrow. “You’re not worried?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
teased, “What’s the matter, Stoney? Afraid
of the big bad Satanists?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney let
logic be his shield. “Didn’t say that. But something tore that guy up real
bad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Everyone
went quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney once
again broke the silence. “I’m in.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby trash can and the trio road away in
silence moments later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">II - C<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As normal,
school was inconsequential, and thanks to the acute awareness of Satanic
symbols brought about by the brewing witch hunt in town, the social aspect was
without any sort of sting on that particular day. Jake wasn’t just tempering a
hot tide of rejection for his two friends. There seemed to be a genuine fear
and wariness now toward all three of them. For now it was comfortable, but they
knew it would probably get much worse once the squares started passing and
comparing notes with the faculty. For now though, the boys were just going to
enjoy the lack of hassle and worry about the inevitable blow up later. The
wheels in Stoney’s head had already started to turn, and he suspected they
might even be able to get something out of the mess if they kept their heads down
in the meantime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
had reconvened at Jake’s house, which wasn’t too far from the start of old
Creek Road. Jake was fortunate enough to have been born with hippie-type parents,
who only settled in Green Briar due to its proximity to Woodstock, and it’s
ultimately cheaper real estate purchase price. The folks were absentee and
hands off, giving their child a wider berth than wiser heads might allow. Their
thought was that this methodology would allow their child to grow firm and
flourish, like a wild vine. Jake’s opinion was that they wanted him far enough
away so that they could smoke weed, and his independent streak made it easy for
them to take off for a day or two.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake kept a
towel across the foot of his door to keep the stink of sage his parents used to
cover up the marijuana smell from their bedroom up. Meanwhile, he kept the
volume up on the Judas Priest to reduce the hum of Morrison Hotel that seemed
to be on repeat in the living room.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg always
enjoyed the strange sensation of stepping from one parallel universe, made up
of dream catchers, crystals, pastels, and artifacts from another period into
the pitch blackness of Jake’s D&D lair, pasted with heavy metal posters and
nude pinups. The oddest note of angst was perhaps the tidiness Jake embraced,
which was in complete contrast to his parents’, who dwelled in waist-high
clutter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney sat
on the edge of Jake’s tightly made bed, reading the liner notes to Agent
Orange’s ‘Sodom’ LP. Greg sat back in a
chair, gazing out the window, fixated on a Dungeons & Dragon’s miniature of
the monstrous Kobold. Jake had just
finished painting the miniature the night before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Priest’s ‘Stained
Class’ was blasting at a respectable level, but unfortunately mauled by the
constant high-pitched yipping of a ratty dog at the fence of their back yard.
Greg could see the mutt from the second-story bedroom window, his lip faintly
bent by annoyance. Greg wasn’t the type of guy who’s ever hurt an animal, but
he had a great deal of contempt for small dogs. He had said on several
occasions, “If I can kill it with one hand, it’s not a real dog.” And the weird
wire-haired yapping creature in the yard behind Jake’s house was the epitome of
why he really hated small dogs – their nervousness and Napoleonic need to never
shut the hell up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake burst
from his closet, where he’d been rummaging for the last twenty minutes. He bellowed, frustrated, “I hate that goddamn
dog. It never shuts up. Can’t wait til that old bitty back there bites it. Hope
they bury that rat with her.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
grimaced, pleased by his pal’s fiery resentment. Nevertheless, he was ready to
go so he wouldn’t have to listen to another minute of that dog’s incessant,
raspy whining. Jake’s house was otherwise ideal, but his nerves were wearing
thin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Rising from
his chair, Greg dumped the books from his backpack out, and disappeared down
the stairs, into the kitchen, where he opened the fridge. His eyes drifted
through the paltry offering of mostly past-due goods and settled on a pack of
greasy, Green Briar Franks – the town’s main export. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Moments
later, upstairs, Jake emerged from his closet with a sheathed machete and a C02
pellet pistol, which he stowed into his backpack. Jake’s realization that Greg
was missing perhaps distracted him from noticing that the incessant barking
from next door had ceased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
looked out the window behind him, and said, “He’s smoking.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake took a
gander, and sure enough, Greg was on his Mongoose, sucking on a Marlboro,
waiting. They locked eyes. Through the pane, they both could hear Greg shout,
“What’s the goddamn hold up?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">III.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
afternoon was abysmal to start with, but under the thick of the natural canopy,
it felt like they were closer to dusk. One would not have to stray too far from
the road before they either got lost or developed a sense of isolation, and
that was the appeal of this place for these rogues – a sense of lawlessness and
that anything could occur.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As Jake
cleaved a swath through the overgrown limbs with his machete, he developed the
fantasy that he was moving in to some virgin territory, and that almost
anything could be just ahead of them – from treasure to ghost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
followed up, brandishing the Co2 pellet gun, poised like an undercover cop in
too deep. Again, fantasy was at play. He knew that if he aimed it at anything
bigger than a squirrel he’d be in for it. Still, the feel of the handle in his
palm gave him a sense of security and strength.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And lastly
there was Greg. He was deliberate in lingering at least thirty steps behind his
friends as they wound their way through the thick of the woods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
had spent numerous hours out in these woods, shooting off bottle rockets and
air guns and driving off wild life with blasting cassette players. Anybody in
their shoes might be a little lost at this point, but they knew exactly where
they were going. Their ears were
following the sound of rushing water in the distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
skittered down an embankment, landing on the muddy shore of a knee high stream.
The three of them traversed downstream, hopping rocks and occasionally slipping
with a splash of profanity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The outline
of a monolithic boulder loomed through the trees, marking a bend in the small
river just ahead, and as they drew closer the graffiti that caked this
otherwise impressive landmark grew sharper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The massive
geological specimen didn’t have an official name, or at least not to their
knowledge. But amongst to those who know of the spot, it was referred to as ‘Gilby’s
Blunder,’ ‘Gilby’s’ or simply, ‘The Blunder.’ The spot was typically littered
with beer bottles and cans and other traces of contraband. An essential party
and make-out spot for the high school kids in town, it was solid, high, secure,
and impossible to miss if you followed the stream for long enough. It was also
reputed to be haunted. The mythology of the spot dated back to around 1974,
before the spot had earned any sort of name. Even then, it was popular amongst
young people, and at that point in time, the waters which ran under the rock
were much deeper and powerful, making it slightly more difficult to reach. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Legend had
it that a popular boy by the name of Gilby Connor had arrived at the rock one
evening with several friends and a case of Rheingold. They probably were
bickering over the last can or so when without word, Gilby toddled out to the
peak of the rock and took a jump. There was a splash a moment later, and his
friends rushed to the edge to see Connor whisked away downstream into the
darkness. It would be the last anybody ever saw of him.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOTnzV13JhK102YF3CHkNypbvGufCjy_mlfo5TTrvPpEHFhZmnym5VZJUNx33bWe84ANCKKojWmNcDtR7o6-o9CVRzPoWouaY4RLXr0ISoCzDSD7heK3Q6gRWcHg3qoAGVY1OTMeuDQ4/s1600/chudblunder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLOTnzV13JhK102YF3CHkNypbvGufCjy_mlfo5TTrvPpEHFhZmnym5VZJUNx33bWe84ANCKKojWmNcDtR7o6-o9CVRzPoWouaY4RLXr0ISoCzDSD7heK3Q6gRWcHg3qoAGVY1OTMeuDQ4/s320/chudblunder.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Of course,
there was some rumor that Gilby – by no means a popular boy – had eventually
clawed his way to shore but just never went home. The fact that his body was
never recovered, along with a few vague sightings made this a particularly
popular theory. However, realists believed that Gilby’s body had most likely
been sucked into the ellipsis of cavern that siphon off the river. The current
generation of teenagers held onto that firmly as the reality since about a
dozen of them – all of whom probably had something exciting in their blood
streams – had witnessed what they claimed was the spectral image of Gilby
taking a leap off the rock.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The myth of
this fatal tragedy and the apparent ghost that haunted the site added a
romantic aura to this spot, and kept the kids coming back. Over time, too, the
river that previously rushed around it had ebbed into something shallow and
more still, making it all the more accessible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
shouted back, “They said it was right up here!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The trio
climbed up the embankment, beyond the rock, and continued deeper into the
forest, and not ten minutes later, Greg watched his friends stop dead and take
a few steps backward. The reaction was so odd that Greg forgot about what he
was hiding and flanked Stoney.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As Greg
drew closer the acrid, unmistakable stench of death tickled his throat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Sure
enough, several feet in front of them lay a cache of pornographic magazines,
roughly the size of a king mattress – a veritable goldmine of tits and ass,
enough to get off to for months, in theory. But there was something laying
across the virtual mattress of colorized flesh photos that dampened any
enthusiasm there should have been otherwise. Splayed across the battered
magazines lay an adult buck – or at least half of it. Tongue clenched between
its teeth, the visible eye had deflated into a port of goo as a horde of
insects pecked and lapped at it. One of the antlers had been snapped from the
skull. At the midsection, the beast ceased to exist – bone was blaring, while
entrails and blood spilled across what had essentially become sexy butcher’s
paper. A pond of gore dragged across the clumps of skin mags. Greg’s eyes
followed the bloody streak, as it lead off into the forest. Chunks of meat and
fur scattered in the wake of whatever had claimed the other half of what was
once a very elegant trophy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The kill
was cold by now, and the elements and other wild life had taken their toll, but
the coagulated blood was still wet and its nickle stink permeated the air.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
blurted under his breath, “Jesus H.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
lamented, kicking at the pile of blood-soaked periodicals in front of him, with
heartbreak all over his face, “What a waste.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
looked at his friend in abject disgust, impressed by his callousness. He knew
he wasn’t talking about the buck. Stoney didn’t have much time to be offended,
because in a matter of seconds, a noise from Greg’s backpack caught his ear ---
the unmistakable sound of a small dog whining.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
looked over at Greg and fired, “What the hell was that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney spun
Greg around, and unzipped his bag. Seconds later, the yipping dog from Jake’s
next door neighbor poked its head out of the book bag. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Alarmed,
Stoney pulled the cowering, rat-like dog out of the bottom of the bag. Jake
smirked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
snatched the dog away from Stoney, who merely stared in silent judgement of his
friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,
relax,” Greg assuaged, “I wasn’t gonna
do anything to it anyway!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
quizzed, “well, what were you gonna do with it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
responded in a tone oozing condescension. “I was going to let the poor creature
be free, as god intended. I figured it would find its way back anyhow, but
after seeing this, I’m not so sure he’d make it back in one piece.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
cradled the dog with an assuring stroke as he began to follow the streak of
gore leading into the woods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake began
to follow, clenching up on his machete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
shouted, “Where the hell are you going?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg kept
walking without answering. Jake continued to follow. Soon, Stoney joined them
as they wound deeper into the forest, following the still-slick trail of
carnage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">IV.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
Barton’s vehicle went into a full furl as her sedan cruised up the pretty,
plush path that approached the Green Briar Natural Odyssey Caverns. She had
anticipated there might be someone there to greet her – perhaps a local
authority to keep press or curiosity seekers at bay. Instead of anything so
local, a pair of men in green fatigues clutching M16 rifles loomed into view
through her bug-spattered windshield. Their posture bristled as she slowly
rolled toward them, and their bulldoggish expressions were less than welcoming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One of the
men raised his hand, motioning for her to stop, but she was already in the
process of complying. She rolled down her window as the other approached her.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
fresh-faced officer remarked curtly, “I’m sorry, ma’am. But I’m afraid you
cannot proceed. I’m going to have to ask you to turn around.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna was
in her thirties, earthy, sunbaked blond, but well kept. She was dressed casual
for what she anticipated to be a bit of hiking in the wilds, but the
description of the task and just who might be there to receive her was all
vague. She had initially been contacted by federal authorities, whom had been
directed to her by someone at the state game and park board. The man on the
phone was dry and evasive, and conveyed to her that they were looking for
someone with environmental knowledge. Donna had just that, but most importantly
she also knew the caves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ms. Barton
had attended NYU throughout her twenties, and graduated with a degree in
forensic anthropology. From there, her goal was to find her way onto the NYPD
force, where she had hoped to walk the beat for several years before graduating
to a position in homicide. As a little girl, Donna was obsessive when it came
to puzzles – the more pieces the better. It was an inclination that survived
childhood fed her curiosity when it came to the subject of bones – human or
otherwise – and what they could teach her about the body they once occupied.
She was an encyclopedia of tell-tale marks, wear, and damage. If you gave her a
cup of coffee and some sun-washed skeletal remains, she could identify gender,
age, and possibly even the cause of death by the time she hit the bottom. Her
professors were certain she would have been an asset to any homicide
department. However, the one thing they didn’t teach her about was department
politics.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The written
tests were a breeze, and she spent six months training for the physical. Prior
to stepping onto the academy course, her body was lean and cut, and seeing the
definition improve every day to a peak had imbued her with a confidence that
allowed her to conquer almost any physical obstacle. She watched several large
but doughy applicants struggled through the course and fail before it was her
turn, but when she finally got called up, she took off like a thoroughbred out
of the gate, and reached the end of the course by dragging a 180 pound dummy to
hypothetical safety. The instructors were impressed – she wasn’t just capable
for being a woman, but capable for anybody. And considering the need for women
on the force to handle more delicate situations that might involve the fairer
sex, she should have been a shoe-in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Six months
after she conquered that course, though, the shoe hadn’t come. She’d had to
start taking secret handouts from her mother, which put a dent in her
self-esteem. So, she began to explore her options and quickly hit what she
thought was a sweet compromise. It didn’t necessarily put her exactly where she
wanted to be, but it was a step in the right direction in terms of experience.
She was soon hired as a Park Ranger and deployed to Green Briar’s Natural
Odyssey Caverns, where she provided care services, patrolled the grounds, and
even gave the occasional tour when required. Recreationally, she’d even spent a
fair amount of time doing a bit of amateur spelunking, though it was
discouraged by her superiors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She was in
her late twenties by the time a particularly brutal summer took her out of
commission. While recovering, Donna considered returning to school, but those
notions were quelled when an offer came from the New Hampshire division of
Forest and Lands as a ranger. Donna immediately leapt at the opportunity. She’d
not only developed a taste for a more scenic work place, but she’d adapted to
the pace of her previous position, and she knew she might be able to parlay
this into something bigger. However, at this point she’d been in the position
for three years and hadn’t exactly had any inclination to claw her way out of
it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There was a
definite nostalgia about returning to Green Briar, though the town was
definitely a podunk mess full of cretins with mangled teeth and strangely
Appalachian accents. Still, she loved those caves and that forest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The second
guard on duty had returned to the military Jeep parked nearby and began
chattering into a squaw box with a low and guarded tone as the other gun-toting
grunt instructed her to turn around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna’s position
and the dangers it entailed had firmed up her tone and she was accustomed to
putting up a warm front out of sheer diplomacy. She responded with an
attractive smile, “My name is Donna Barton. I’m a ranger from the New Hampshire
division of Forest and Lands.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
handed her ID and credentials over to the guard, who reluctantly took them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
continued, “My services have been requested by an agent Hankamer. I’m a little
early, I’m afraid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The guard
gave her a thorough eye over before taking her credentials back to the jeep
where more squawking ensued. After several minutes, though, and some droning
confirmation on the other end, the guard returned her wallet and badge and
waved her through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Just like
old times, she rolled beyond the gates and within two minutes she pulled into
the parking lot – empty, save for a cluster of local squad cars, unmarked
sedans, and – unexpectedly – several military vehicles, all parked at the
cave’s entrance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna had
been briefed about the death, which rattled her slightly. She didn’t know the
man in question, but he had been her replacement and had been in place for
several years. The thought of what might have been was not as pervasive as it
could have been. But based on her
familiarity with the wild life in the area, she was curious as to what all this
could be about. The idea of a cougar
hiding somewhere in the cavern, behaving so aggressively, seemed unlikely to
her based on her experience and knowledge so far. Now, with the presence of
military, she was sure that her briefing was about to expand wildly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">V.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The lithe,
female voice perforated what had otherwise been dominated by baritones.
“Harve?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The voice
sent a surge of electricity through square-jawed EPA man Harve Tesser’s scalp,
freezing him in mid-stir of his coffee. The centrifugal force of his about face
in the direction of his name sent a wave of scalding coffee splashing across
the floor in front of him. “Ah, crap!” he exclaimed, involuntarily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A shallow
mote of java steamed just at Donna Barton’s toes. Her face lit up as she met
eyes with Harve. Harve succumbed to the contagiousness of her smile as he
nervously ran his hand through his wavy, black hair to make sure it was still
in place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She chimed
again, surprised, “Harve Tesser!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She took
his hand, warmly, and inquired, “What are you doing here? I thought for sure you’d
be back in the city, dealing with whatever’s going on down there. Unless of
course I just put my foot in my mouth and you’re not—“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
struggled to keep up, voice breaking, “Hey, Donna! No, I’m still with the EPA.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
paused with a quizzical expression – one which Harve understood fully. He knew
Donna had only bare bones rather than specifics. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He made a
frail attempt to divert, “Looking good as always.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna’s
voice dropped as her game face emerged, and she continued, fluidly, “Thanks,
you, too. What’s the EPA doing here? And what about the army? And for that
matter, what am I doing here?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She was not
a woman to be detoured by mere pleasantries or basic flattery, and Harve knew
that too well. He’d first met the bright-eyed Barton several years back on a
stretch of cold New Hampshire beach, when a suspect barrel with some ‘troubling
markings’ had been brought in by the tide. When the EPA line rang, they
deployed Harve – young but fastidious, and charismatic enough to melt even the
most frigid iceberg of formality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
adjusted his face and lowered his tone, working up his most disarming
half-cocked smile. “Well, I assume you’re here because of a certain federal
check with a fair amount of zeros. Now, at least two of those extra zeroes were
to keep this quiet. So, for the time being, let’s keep it down, alright? As for
the boys in green, they’re backup. They are here to contain a problem that we
suspect might have leaked into the caves.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Savvy,
Donna patterned her low voice after Harve’s. “leaked from where.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
responded, coyly, “You know, that problem in the city?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna kept
it tight. “How?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
nodded. “Let’s take a ride. Come on, I’ll show you something.”<br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">VI.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
approached a line of yellow tape wavering in the light breeze and gingerly
placed her hand on it to duck under. Harve’s voice rang out sternly from behind
her, “I wouldn’t go much further than where you are.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She looked
back over her shoulder. Harve was casually leaning against his government issue
sedan’s fender, stirring his coffee. He continued, “Not without a suit anyways.
Unless, of course, you wanna light up like a Christmas tree when the sun goes
down. And then there’s the nausea and the hairloss—“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna cut
him off, “I think I got it, Harve, thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She kept a
safe distance, even taking a few steps back as she looked down the wooded
embankment toward a towering concrete wall that stretched on as far as she
could see. In the center of the wall was a massive tunnel opening, fifty feet
in diameter. Deep in its recesses she could barely make out large fan blades,
and so she assumed this was an in-take of some sort. At the bottom of the
opening, signs of something making some sort of escape were evident, as the
rebar grating had been pushed outward to grant access to the outside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
asked, “So, what am I looking at here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
replied, simply, “It’s an intake.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Incredulity
crept into her voice. “Right, but for what?”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He replied,
“City sewer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve was
being evasive, and it was starting to wear on Barton. She pressed, “We’re a
long way from the Big Apple.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
crossed her arms and walked back to the car, casually. “Look Harve, you can cut
the crap or you can keep the check. It really makes no difference to me. I’d
rather go back to the beach anyway. It’s nice and crisp this time of year.
You’re welcome to join me.” She shot a
loaded smirk in his direction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve began
to crack. Calculating the pending scenario, he knew time was off the essence.
He also didn’t know if there was anybody with credentials who might know those
caves better than Barton did – and he was certain his problem lay somewhere
inside of them. He decided to level with her, “Alright.” He wound up, “It’s part of a government
facility.”</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGEWrnkmtJwuw6KevYGy4ZjT3AcmDCE8dCoa0X_x6TA-8fiTOK7FNYMXDdevjoOOVeWcds9mCLpqeIs6xIhqKLhNjCqUzParhBr21jAUenOQ2qC-rtak1eskqVUgorxGJQAGbDgFtlWc/s1600/chudtape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGGEWrnkmtJwuw6KevYGy4ZjT3AcmDCE8dCoa0X_x6TA-8fiTOK7FNYMXDdevjoOOVeWcds9mCLpqeIs6xIhqKLhNjCqUzParhBr21jAUenOQ2qC-rtak1eskqVUgorxGJQAGbDgFtlWc/s320/chudtape.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
interjected confidently, “What base? There are no bases around here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
gesticulated awkwardly. “Well, it’s underground, and by ‘underground’ I mean it
to be—uh—“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
filled in the blank, “A double entendre?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
chuckled, “Sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna was
well aware of certain secret installations that dotted the cost all the way up
to Canada. As a ranger, she’d begun to collect a wide and colorful assortment
of mythologies, ranging from cryptid and ghosts to even UFOs – the latter of
which leaned heavily on the government conspiracy paranoia. More likely,
though, many of these rumored bases had something more to do with underground
missile silos in conjunction with a line of coastal defense against the
Russians. It was what she’d heard referred to as ‘Reagan’s Last Stand.’ The
wildest speculation was that many of these bases were connected via underground
monorail, running all the way from Maine to the tip of Florida. Considering the
country’s current political climate, the idea of underground silos never seemed
too far-fetched, and she assumed what she was seeing was perhaps some sort of
cooling duct. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna said,
“Well, whenever you feel like cutting the proverbial crap, I’m all ears.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Alright,”
Harve mustered, “I’ll level with you. We’re dealing with something radically
challenging underneath that city down there. Some sort of mutation, humanoid
and aggressive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Barton was
connecting dots rapidly, “Love children of the NRC in some way, no doubt.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve took
the shot, bowed his head and continued. “Wilson’s been working with city
authorities to contain and quarantine the sewers and train tunnels, but it’s a
virtual maze down there. There were maps, sure.
But no one even considered that some stuff had been left off of paper,
and for the purpose of national security. We found that out the hard way when
we discovered a series of ducts that shouldn’t have been there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna made
it easy on Harve. “And they made it this far, huh? Quite a trek.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“We’ve come
to find that this mutation is cunning as it is sturdy. Nothing surprises us
anymore.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“And the
guide down in the caves?” Donna said, asking another hard question, “It wasn’t
mountain lions, or devil worshippers, I take it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve shook
his head, slowly. He continued, “An unfortunately fortunate circumstance that
put us back on the trail. Anyway, I remembered your dossier—“<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
quipped, surprised, “I have a dossier?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve fired
back with cold finality, “Every single one of us does. Your dossier had
mentioned Green Briar, the caverns. Apparently you know those caves pretty
good. For now, they’re quarantined down there. Now, it’s our job to find and
quell the problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
responded with honest modesty. “I’m no spelunker. Strictly amateur, actually.
But I’ve been pretty deep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
asked, “Just how deep?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,” Donna
attempted to recall, “Can’t give you an exact measurement, but deeper than just
about anybody else. You said the problem was quarantined?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
responded confidently, “We’ve been posted at the cave’s entrance since we
tracked them there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
suddenly looked concerned, “And that’s it?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
didn’t like the question. “What do you mean ‘that’s it?’”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
ditched her cool. “I mean that there’s the tourist entrance, but there are
veins that stretch all over. There are several entrances to the caverns by a
small river just on the other side of the hills in fact.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve flew
into full on panic as he dropped his coffee and jumped into his unmarked sedan.
“Come on!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Barton ran,
climbing into the passenger seat just barely as the car flew into reverse,
speeding back down a rural path toward a main road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">VII.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg sped
through the dark on his mongoose, ripping around the bend toward home, peddling
for dear life. His lungs heaved erratically, a tangled pattern of racing heart
and physical exhaustion. The cold air stung his eyes, but they still stayed
peeled back in disbelief from what he’d just seen half an hour before – though
he felt like he’d been running for an eternity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg pushed
up the hill, nauseated, and reached the peak. Below, the road descended, and he
could see the comforting light of home, brimming from the kitchen window. He
consciously forced deep, steady breaths into his lungs as he cruised down the
hill, trying hard to collect himself. But still, his mind went racing back to Gilby’s
Blunder, the deer, and the gore trail that lead them back to the cave. He began
to replay the events in his mind again. Terrified by what he saw as he may have
been, he was desperate to recount the details, hoping that maybe he’d been
mistaken. Hell, maybe it was even some grim prank pulled by one of the more
territorial blunder regulars. Still, what he’d seen was too gruesome and would
have required a level of creativity that the high school art students, who were
routinely called ‘queer’ and beat up by the high school senior jocks, could
summon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His mind
shot back to the deer leaking out across the bed of pornography – both more
titillating and repulsive a sight than any suggested by the album covers he
routinely obsessed over. He had started into the woods, following one
particular strand of entrails, with a ratty, quivering dog in his clutches.
Jake and Stoney tread after him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
called out after him, “What the hell are you doing?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
ignored him. Jake choked up on the machete, while Stoney kept his finger
snuggly on a very futile trigger. He knew that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The trail
of gore continued up a small path, toward the side of the hill. Chunks of flesh
and fur were mixed in with the visceral, syrupy blood that had soaked into the
ground and painted across several large stones in the ground. Greg speculated
in his mind that this red swath could only have been painted by whatever it was
that had dragged the other half of that buck away. He shook with anxiety and
excitement. He’d always wanted to see one of the wild lions his father used to
tell him resided in the hills. He was certain that if he saw one, it would
probably skitter away, but if it were bolder he imagined a scenario where he
would throw the decrepit mouthful of canine meat in his sweating palms at the
beast as a distraction that might allow he and his friends to escape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">By the time
the trio arrived at the towering mouth of the cave entrance, the sun had almost
gone, and what they could see of the sky was a grim, cornmeal blue. It was
narrow and tall, as if cleaved into the hill’s face. The viscus trail continued
into the dark recesses of the cavern. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
inquired as he attempted to peer deeper into the cave, “Anybody got a light?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
responded, doltisihly, “Got a lighter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
objected, firmly. “You’re goddamn crazy, man. I ain’t goin’ in there and
neither are you two ‘tards.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg was
almost gleeful. “Why not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney’s curt
logic once again prevailed. “Because whatever the hell it was that tore that
buck up is up in there, and all I’ve got is this stupid pellet gun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But Greg
didn’t care. “I only wanna see what it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
quipped, “Those sound like terrible last words if ever I heard ‘em.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg removed
his bag with a free hand. Reaching
inside he retrieved the package of Green Briar Franks he’d liberated from the
refrigerator back at Jake’s house as he crept closer to the mouth of the cave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake and
Stoney hung back. Both went quiet, gripped by their own morbid curiosity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Standing in
the archway of the cave, Greg tossed the remaining hot dogs across the ground.
They accrued filth and turned crimson from the blood as they rolled.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGV8hyphenhyphenQhrI5jR0jfD5ezAbmWdGabv4QsUZBFL6Apk8kdPU-THg9ZAziOKYfqLSen9d0ts6CkfU4C3h2lznWAORFlkxfiDorOzwCWrJG8dmfGuLhGavlsMyQbYnDXJ3zo_WPJ2KTK82uGg/s1600/chud+yapper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGV8hyphenhyphenQhrI5jR0jfD5ezAbmWdGabv4QsUZBFL6Apk8kdPU-THg9ZAziOKYfqLSen9d0ts6CkfU4C3h2lznWAORFlkxfiDorOzwCWrJG8dmfGuLhGavlsMyQbYnDXJ3zo_WPJ2KTK82uGg/s320/chud+yapper.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Finally, he
placed the dog on its feet, and released it. The trembling, rodent-like dog
sniffed and looked around for a moment before picking up the scent of the dogs.
It scampered toward the blood-tainted treats and began to tear at them with is
muzzle, wolfing down two of the dogs within a minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
kneeled, watching the dog tear at the third dog when something in the true
darkness in the cave began to stir. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The ratty
mutt tore into the final dog when from the dark sprang an arm, bearing a
clawed, glimmering hand. Within an instant, the dog was gone with a yelp,
disappeared into the dark, and from the recesses of the pitch black the dog’s
cry was snipped short by the send of ligaments and flesh snapping and tearing
like several pieces of drenched paper. Seconds later, a foul gust followed by a
guttural growl wafted from the cave. Iridescent eyes raised up, peered out at
them, and reflecting the last of the day’s fleeting light, which all three boys
watched fade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
scampered backward and turned to run, but Stoney was way ahead of both he and
Jake. The boys screamed and bolted,
fleeing through the woods. Stoney’s feet stuttered, and sent him crashing into
the crimson-soaked pile of porno magazines. He began to gag as he leapt down
the bank and into the creek. He could hear branches breaking and his friends screaming
close behind him, but he wasn’t sure if anything might be on their tail. He
never bothered to look for fear of seeing it coming – an idea that seemed worse
than an actual death, knowing how imminent it might be before it took you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The three
boys blew like hell fire into the clearing and grabbed their bikes without a
word. Jake went in one direction, while Stoney and Greg went in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There was
no space for words as they sucked air, peddling as fast as they could down the
road. Stoney eventually broke off at a fork in the road in the direction of his
respective home without so much as a peep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">By that
point, Jake was probably in the security of his own room. Stoney would have a
longer way to go, but that only meant he was further from whatever it was that
they had just seen. Meanwhile, for Greg home was at the bottom of the hill. But
from there he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg flew
down the dirt driveway leading to his home. The night was greasy black, and his
dried-out eyes struggled to adjust in it. He dropped his BMX, and briskly
walked in the direction of the light in the kitchen window. He could hear the phone in the kitchen begin
to ring, and he quickened his pace to a jog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Then
everything went true black, and he was seamlessly snatched from consciousness.
The ringing went dead.<br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">VIII.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Much like
the day before, and every other day since the school year had started, Jake and
Stoney sat perched on the picnic table of the roadside rest stop. However,
there was one wrinkle that made today’s waiting session different – silence.
There were no headphones. No heavy metal tapes blasting their brains and
heightening their adrenaline before their ride to school. The air of these
warriors beefing up for some sort of social battle was absent. Scowls had
eroded into looks of concern as the two sat silently beside one another, eyes
trained on the bend up the road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake’s
homecoming the previous evening was a bumbling and chaotic one as he fumbled
through the house, closing and locking every window and door around the house –
disrupting the ‘energy flow,’ as the Deadheads he called mom and dad would call
it. He then fled to his room, where he sat in silence, processing what he had
run from out in those woods. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He sped
through a rolodex of emotional stages in the matter of forty minutes. First
there was terror. Then there was something he hadn’t felt since he was probably
about eight, when his grandparents took him to Disney World – he was ecstatic
to be alive. That sentiment was routinely blocked by the woe of cliché
adolescents. Thirdly was doubt, questioning what he had seen, but he was
certain they all had seen it. But then again, was it real? Was it a prank? He
had questions he needed to ask, which directed him to his next phase: total
concern for his friends, Stoney and Greg. Had they made it back home? He needed
to talk about the shimmering five fingers he had seen wrap around that dog
before it was dragged into ultimate darkness. The silence, typically occupied
by that same yipping animal now nagged at Jake, who felt a pang of guilt even
though he hadn’t been the one to snatch the dog in the first place. His mind
immediately flashed to Greg and he dialed his number. The phone rang for what
seemed like forever, and eventually he hung up. Jake’s chest filled with dread
for several moments until his own phone rang this time. He snatched the
receiver up immediately and heard his fat friend jabbering nervously on the
other end, asking the same questions he had, with the same amount of fear in his
voice, too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Over the
next several hours, they spoke feverishly about the possibilities of what they
had actually seen, and they reached the final stage together – strange
enthusiasm for this thing, whatever it was, that they agreed that they all saw
it. Could it have been a hoax? They, too, concluded that Green Briar wasn’t
exactly a thriving artistic community. The majority of its tax payers didn’t
even have a sense of humor, let alone one so dark at this point of panic in
their town. They knew it was real, but what the hell was it? They lingered on
the five clawed fingers, a definitively human trait, but still with something
distinctly animal about them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And then
there was suddenly concern when Greg’s name found its way back into the
conversation. Jake mentioned that he had tried to call his house, but there had
been no answer. This was usually routine, but in this instance it was cause for
worry. Stoney contemplated calling, but decided against it when confronted with
the idea of Greg’s step father answering. They both echoed the hopeful
sentiment that they would all talk about it when they saw him tomorrow at the
stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And there
they sat, at their usual designated meeting place, waiting for their friend to
come cruising around that bend. Hoping he would sail into sight any moment.
They had reached the point where they knew they’d be late for school, but there
they remained, with zero regard for their academic attendance record. They never
even questioned whether or not they should leave out loud to one another.
Instead, they sat perched, sentry-like, full of hope, and getting increasingly
itchy with every passing minute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake didn’t
care about school, but he had begun to wonder just how long they ought to wait.
He piped up. “Screw school,” he said, “but maybe we should ride over to his
house or something? This is driving me nuts.”</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTUO06ZqChfU3v3PD9SPSzZCTv9w2bxT_CSflO1B0SxBgUL3FZS6Z2ie_GwqC6jL5rFRrUTxx5R4zboLFcomBnqM79acioZusQ6LfY9XYJYRDZKnbSPw3O14_ZZFP9TsI1Ta1hyphenhyphenBuH1E/s1600/chudfist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTUO06ZqChfU3v3PD9SPSzZCTv9w2bxT_CSflO1B0SxBgUL3FZS6Z2ie_GwqC6jL5rFRrUTxx5R4zboLFcomBnqM79acioZusQ6LfY9XYJYRDZKnbSPw3O14_ZZFP9TsI1Ta1hyphenhyphenBuH1E/s320/chudfist.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
warned, “I dunno, what about Craig?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The C-name
carried with it a certain dread-imbued gravity. Craig was, unfortunately,
Greg’s stepfather. Perpetually unemployed since moving into the house
previously occupied by a happy family, Craig had made little effort to find
steady work in town, or even a little outside of it. This left a tremendous
burden on Greg’s mother, Peg Ford, formerly Neeley. By dusk, she typically left
for an overnight shift at a plastics factory in the next county. Green Briar
wasn’t exactly a town known for industry. Most of the folks that occupied it
were content to cruise down their velvet rut and ultimately into whatever cheap
coffin their local job might afford them – that is, if they were lucky. But
with a son and a husband to support, she never questioned stepping up. She was
simply propelled by the initiative she developed during the illness that had
taken Greg’s father. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Colon
cancer was the aggressive culprit that took Richard Neeley two years prior.
Still, in Greg’s brain, he saw it as less oppressive a presence in his
household than Craig’s. Greg had developed the keen sense that while cancer
took his father, Craig would probably be the death of both he and his mother.
While his mother worked herself sick as the mule at the head of the cart, Greg
suspected one day Craig might take the opportunity to simply shove him off of
it and under a wheel, so to speak. Greg had made an art out of laying low. He
mostly stayed out of the big man’s way, hiding in his room, married to his
headphones. Greg knew a handful of boys who’d met the backhand of some male
authority figure, but he never got the benefit of a slap. Straight away, the
first time he crossed Craig, he took a clenched fist to the gut.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
still recalled the time Greg showed up at his house, white as a sheet and out
of breath and begging to be hidden. The best Stoney could think to do at the
time was to throw his pal under some unfolded laundry he’d been stockpiling in
his closet. Greg lay there, like a still embryonic ball under layers of t-shirts
and jeans, behind a closed door. Under a mountain of cotton, he heard an
aggressive knocking at the door. The clatter of the door handle was interrupted
by Craig Ford’s angry voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it was no doubt as foul as the tone
was aggressive. Fortunately, Stoney lived with his grandparents. His grandfather
in particular was a stout man – a WWII veteran who’d done time overseas for an
extended tour. His grandmother once told him he’d joined the army simply
because his family couldn’t afford shoes for him. His cracked leather hands had
rarely seen a day off, even at his current age. Craig’s bark was bad, but he
was limited to it, unless it came to women or children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One of the
primary reasons Craig could find no work in town was only partially because he
was a shiftless ne’er-do-well. The other half was probably because nobody liked
him. He was viewed as a loud-mouth lout and a bully who left his brain and his
heart back in high school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Suffice to
say, Craig didn’t get beyond Stoney’s grandfather and probably left as badly
shaken as Greg was under all those clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
answered after several seconds, “I don’t care. Let’s go.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
climbed on their bikes and they were pedaling toward the bend when they saw
something break around the corner slowly. Their hearts soared and lungs popped
open when they noticed the shape of their friend approaching in the distance.
Their relief, though, slowly dissipated. First, they noticed that he wasn’t
quite moving in the usual way. Greg was typically the sort of kid who pedaled
away from his home faster than he did going back. This time, though, there was
something lethargic to his approach. It was hobbled. His head, too, hung low at
the end of a pained slouch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys
stopped hard as his face came into clear view, and they could see something was
very clearly wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">IX.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The trio
sat in Jake’s room, in total silence. Jake averted his eyes out the window.
Stoney on the other hand couldn’t look away from what had been done to his
friend.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
mustered, “I think we should take you to the hospital, or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg lifted
his head from sifting ice water through a knocked-out tooth, and laughed. “Really?
And say what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Neeley
looked his friend in the face, though he was barely capable of eye contact
thanks to the beating he’d incurred the night before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney studied
the bruising and contusions that left his friend barely recognizable. He
fixated on the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, though an aneurysm had colored
in the white around his iris blood red. Greg struggled to speak through several
cracked teeth and a badly split lip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When first
he approached them by the road stop, Greg was a mess of matted hair, blood, and
caked on filth. Hemoglobin and dirty had mingled to scab while he lay in the
dirty outside of his kitchen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">When Greg
awoke that morning, the first thing he heard was a ringing in his right ear,
and then he became acutely aware of the pain. And then he became aware of the
blood as he pulled his head off the ground. The sound and sensation reminded
him of carefully peeling Scotch tape off of some course surface. As he stood,
he wobbled from the deep, steel-toe sized bruise in his left thigh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg didn’t
remember the first punch, but it had been hard enough to set back time and put
him out simultaneously, and he was grateful for that. Nevertheless, the culprit
was not content to stop there. Once Greg dragged himself off the ground, he
attempted to make it inside, only to freeze when he saw his reflection in the
kitchen window. His face had been beaten so badly during his unconscious state
that the shape was no longer the same, while blackening around his eyes had set
in. He looked back to where he’d been and saw the blood – more of the human
variety than he’d ever seen before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
stumbled back off the stoop and realized his mother was not home yet from her
commute. But he knew the man who’d done it to him was probably inside. He
shuffled toward the legitimate puddle of his own now-cold essence, and noticed
the abundance of cigarette butts that littered the ground. He had the faculty
to connect those dots. The man who’d done this to him had smoked several
cigarettes after he’d doled out the beating, and then gone back inside, where
he probably sat still in his recliner, drifting off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg was
filled with a rage, but he was in no condition to act on it. He could barely
move one of his arms, and walking was nearly impossible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And so,
Greg once again mounted his bike and pushed it up the hill before he began his
ride.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
countered, “You don’t look good, man. I’m just worried. Just don’t know how bad
you’re hurt. That eye--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg cut
his friend off, frustrated. “If I go to the hospital, they’re going to ask how
this happened. Then what?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
answered matter of factly, “Tell them who did it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
chuckled out of the corner of his mouth. “Hell, man, I’d get a beating worse
than this one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney already
knew, but he asked anyway. “So it was Craig?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg nodded
faintly. Stoney asked, “Why?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg shook
his head, but deep down he knew exactly why. It had been that middle finger
he’d flown at his stepfather as he’d left the previous morning. He kept that
detail to himself for fear that someone might think he asked for it. He knew
Craig well enough that he expected some sort of repercussion, but nothing to
the level of brutality that had actually been dealt. After he’d finished his
cigarette that morning, Craig most likely retired to his recliner for a few
beers, and grew more agitated at the thought of the gesture his stepson had
made to him that morning, until it had stoked to a nice roaring rage. That night,
he probably waited in the shadows for an hour or two, waiting for Greg to
return so he could unload his anger and frustration, only this time things got
out of control. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake shared
a surprisingly rare and rational thought. “What the hell does it matter why? Nothing makes what he did okay!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
lowered his head in shame. He knew Jake was right and was suddenly awash with guilt
for even asking. Still, he asked another question. “So, what are you gonna do?
You can’t hide this. People are gonna ask.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Deafening
silence proceeded for several moments. And then Greg lifted his head, sounding
lost, but determined to find a way out of this mess, “It doesn’t matter
anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Jake
assured his friend, “You can stay here for a while.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “No,”
Greg said. “I’m going to sleep in my own bed tonight. And it’ll be alright.
Because I’m going to get rid of him.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Stoney
looked across the room at Jake, and saw a reflection of concern.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">X.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In certain
people, there is a quality of self-loathing that allows one to take a sick pleasure
in just how rank they are. Craig was one of those animals, and he consistently
reached a level of stench that kept his wife far from the thought of intimacy.
And then there was the funk of body odor and feces that rose from his usual
Lay-Z Boy chair that warded anyone from potentially taking his prime television
viewing spot. Today, the bouquet of alcoholism, nicotine and unemployment was
particularly aromatic as Craig Ford sat in his recliner, feet up. A cold can of Rheingold set against red, agitated
knuckles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He took
sips in between nursing his hand as he watched a man with a bag on his head
tell a flat comedy routine on the television – the gong was poised to ring any
moment now, but the tension barely kept him from drifting off. But what did jerk
him back into a complete state of consciousness was a knock at the door.
Craig’s eyes rolled around in his head until the set of hardy raps repeated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He pulled
the lever on the side of his chair, and lurched forward with a groan, ready to
tear into whatever sad sack might be fool hardy enough to disturb him during
his program. However, when he opened the door, he wasn’t prepared for what he
saw.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He stepped
out onto the stoop with a quizzical expression. Several feet away from him sat
the open tailgate of an old model Chevy truck, while in the bed stood teenager
he recognized as one of Greg’s friends, poised with a metal bucket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Before
Craig could draw a breath, the sturdy youth hurled the bucket contents, which
flew from the mouth and hit Craig dead across the chest and face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Despite his
own brand of overwhelming pungency, Craig immediately knew what the slop oozing
down his body and into the crevices of his pursed lips – a concoction of feces,
earth, and urine. His gag reflex began to heave and his eyes watered. Almost instantaneously,
Craig leapt down the steps toward the truck, which peeled away, tires spinning
gravel and dust in his direction. Craig forced his eyes open to see Jake
flipping him the bird from the back of the truck as it sped away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig
quickly ran to his own truck, never thinking twice about it and was shortly in
pursuit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaZQ3Pg7X2KyQN1xFrEEk0jfeIQIrGhlrC1Gx29ba6gc97kxk_K_JHDuDs7DQW1PzoDxj5jUr6xUm4HKGQ_52Bq94199ftcTtOwZt-6fGi2al_1d_vspnuR9bH9AOc5MsqsY57_gNPxs/s1600/chudslop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinaZQ3Pg7X2KyQN1xFrEEk0jfeIQIrGhlrC1Gx29ba6gc97kxk_K_JHDuDs7DQW1PzoDxj5jUr6xUm4HKGQ_52Bq94199ftcTtOwZt-6fGi2al_1d_vspnuR9bH9AOc5MsqsY57_gNPxs/s320/chudslop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">XI.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
stinging pain all over Greg was overcome briefly by giddiness as he looked
through the rear window of Jake’s parent’s truck, which their lack of parental
restriction had graciously permitted him to use on occasion, in spite of the
fact that he had never bothered to get a license. Stoney sat behind the wheel,
leaning on the pedal. He had developed some merit as a driver on his
grandparent’s farm, taught by his grandfather how to handle the wheel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney kept
a steady pace until he saw Craig’s truck roar around the bend and after them.
He laid it in and sped up. Jake, still in the back of the bed, clung to
whatever he could. From there, Stoney was sure to keep a good distance between
them, because they’d need it considering their friend’s limited mobility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The plan
had been set into motion and now there was no turning back. It didn’t take Greg
too long to come up with it, drawing partial inspiration from the poster from
the 1976 film Carrie hanging in the corner of Jake’s room, with the waifish
Sissy Spacek wide-eyed and covered in pig’s blood. He anticipated some push
back from his friends, but was surprised when they agreed to help him assemble
the components. It was an actual shock when no one objected to what the
ultimate outcome might be. Personal risk was one thing, but wantonly putting
someone else in harm’s way was where he thought the plot would end.
Nevertheless, Jake secured the truck, and from there, they made a small stop at
Stoney’s family farm, where they loaded a slop bucket with pig excrement and a
natural concoction of urine and mud.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pure
gratification washed over Greg’s body when he saw the pig waste hit his
stepfather, but then his legs started to hum when he realized they’d now be
forced to deal with him. If he caught up with them, his wrath could be fatal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mashing on
the pedal, Stoney sent the truck around the west bend. He could see night closing in faster than
Craig’s truck, which was struggling to keep up with their pace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney hit
the brakes and the truck skittered off the side of the road onto a shoulder.
Jake screamed as the back of his head collided with metal. Stoney rushed from
the cab and screamed for Jake, who tumbled out toward the passenger side. Greg
was struggling against his own pain to climb down, but his friends assisted,
and propped his arms over him before they bolted into the thick of the woods.
Jake took the lead point, slashing through brush his machete.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The sun was
almost gone, but it might as well been before midnight under the thick shade of
the forest. The creek had just begun to fade in over their heavy breathing when
they heard the faint echo of a truck door slamming. Craig had found their
abandoned truck, and was most likely hot on their trail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The boys,
collectively toting their wounded friend, made sure to take no care in their
retreat further into the woods. In fact, they made effort to make their path
clear with a racket that signaled their direction to their pursuer. Jake
continued chopping when a familiar voice rang through the woods from a
still-safe distance. Craig’s crazed shout pinball’d and reverberated through
the thick trunks behind them and hummed against their backs, “DON’T WORRY!
AIN’T GONNA HANG YA!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">And then
came a dreaded, thunderous sound familiar to anybody who’d spent any time in
the Green Briar hills – a KABOOM that froze the trio. In all his haze and
haste, Greg had forgotten that his stepfather usually kept a 12 gauge pump
action shot gun under his cab seat. Hunting was popular around these parts, but
Craig wasn’t much for any outdoor sport. Rather, he used this particular
firearm as an intimidation tactic, in case things got a little too rough down
at the Shillelagh Club, down on main. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg’s head
hung and mumbled, “Crap!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Stoney
mused, “It’s okay, guys. He’s not gonna hang us or anything. It’ll be much
quicker.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The gravity
of what was happening had set in, and they all felt heavier as they resumed
their retreat into those dark woods.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">XII.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig slid
down the soggy embankment with plates of mud under his boots and nearly toppled
into the creek below, relinquishing balance in fever of clinging to his rifle.
His head shot back and forth in search of a trail to pick up on. Twenty feet up,
he noticed the glistening bank with a cluster of foot prints descending up to
the other side. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> He
trudged up the creek and through the water when something struck his head and
his ears began to ring. His legs buckled as the magnitude of the blow set in. A
stone bounced off his skull with a solid amount of force and splashed into the
rushing water behind him. Seconds later, blood began to collect in his bushy
right brow, overflowing down the ridge of his nose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig
looked up the face of the massive rock across the bank to spot Jake standing at
the peak of the Blunder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig
immediately aimed, but the blood pooling around his eye lid complicated what
should have been a clear shot. Jake dove backward as Craig pulled the trigger.
The buckshot glinted off the peak of the rock in a puff of dust.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He raced up
the bank and climbed the hillside. His eyes scoured the ground as he
intermittently wiped the blood away. The sickly sweet stench of death stung his
nostrils before his eyes found the dear carcass splayed across the bed of
magazines. Then came another rock, bouncing against the rifle’s body. Craig
lifted the rifle with lightning speed an aimed at Jake. He pulled the trigger,
but the gun would not cooperate. Luck was on Jake’s side as Craig had forgotten
to pump the 12-gauge after his previous shot, allowing him to flee into the
woods.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Frustrated,
Ford expelled the shell and took off into the dark after the lithe teen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg stood
several feet outside of the cave, poised to move. Jake had come running with
the tipoff and hung a hard left thirty seconds earlier, and he’d neglected to
take note of what direction Stoney took.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg’s feet
took root when he saw a shape breaking through the low branches. Eventually
Craig emerged, clutching the 12 gauge. Greg couldn’t determine the distance
between them. His head was swimming. Craig paused and slowly lifted the muzzle
of his rifle, aiming at his step son, but before he could line up the sight,
Greg was easing backward into the abyss of the high cavern.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig fired
anyway. Greg screamed from inside as hot pellets tore through the denim of his
leg. Craig cocked and fired again. He reloaded as he approached, grinning
sadistically. He entered the cave, cautiously, craning the nose of his rifle
out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Boy, you
learned too late that you do not screw with smoke,” Craig preached on, “because
where there is smoke, there is certainly going to be fire. You can’t close a
door on me. Because what good is a deadbolt when your house is burning down?
Gonna take more than a rock to put me out. For damn sure. Too bad you ain’t
gonna live long enough to use what I’m teaching you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig
stumbled as his foot hit a rock, his ankle nearly buckling under him. He
uttered some profanity and then tightened his finger around the trigger. The
muzzle flashed, illuminating the cavern for a split second. Buckshot pinged
down the cavern’s gullet. He heard something scurrying. Craig pointed in the
direction of the sound and fired off another shot. This time, he caught a
glimpse of a moving shadow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig grinned
in the pitch black, edging forward. His boots scraping against the rocky
surface elicited the sound of a scurrying, which he did his best to pursue. As
he moved what his senses told him was deeper into the caverns, due mainly to
the dropping temperatures, something caught his ear. He paused for a moment as an erratic clicking
sound echoed through the black, and grew closer. The dimension of the distance
suddenly started to make sense, as a queer light began to creep across the
walls. A green and yellow phosphorescent light ring laced through the hull of
the cave, slowly creeping forward, with a dim flame at the center, all the
while the strange clicking grew louder and more erratic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Craig
pumped his gun and took aim at the flame, and as he lowered his muzzle, a
spotlight blinded him, lighting up his threatening posture, and almost
instantaneously, the flame bridged the darkness between itself and Craig with a
ferocious blast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Craig
dropped his gun as his clothing ignited, roaring to life, and his flesh
constricted under the intense inferno now enveloping him. Staggering forward,
Craig lashed out toward the source of the blaze.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
remained coiled in a corner he’d felt out, and his sensitive eyes, which had
adjusted to total blackness squinted against the sudden moving bonfire that
swallowed his stepfather whole. Even over the intense howls of agony, Greg
could make out strange static-wrapped voices barking orders. What followed was
a hail of automatic gunfire. Greg covered his eyes as he watched the flaming
figure picked apart in a series of gory halos. Bits of flaming gore rained past
him, coating the walls and the floor of the cave, highlighting up the whole
area in a violent pyre. The bulk of Craig Ford little more than a splayed,
smoldering core, encircled by his own entrails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Before
Greg could move to flee, a towering figure in a HAZMAT suit loomed over him,
aiming an M16 directly in his face. The teen lifted his trembling hands in a
show of automatic surrender. Tears streamed down his cheeks and he sobbed. The
figure lowered his weapon after surveying the boy, and extended a gloved hand.
Greg accepted and as he stood, he soon found himself surrounded by six others
in suits, several of which had black light lanterns fixed to their artillery.
The Geiger counter in one of their hands clicked rapidly to the point of
near-static as they swept the cavern. One of the men toted a flame thrower –
its dim pilot dancing in the grim atmosphere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One of the
figures approached, and Greg could make out the delicate features of a woman
behind the helmet’s glass face guard. She immediately placed her hand on the
profuse bleeding seeping from the shredded coat sheathing his upper arm. She
called out, urgently, “We’re gonna need to get this boy to a hospital.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The man
with the Geiger counter eyed the boy from a distance, and corrected, “We’ll
need to get him to decontamination first.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
insisted, “Harve, he’s been shot!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve fired
back, “Well, that may be the least of his problems, Ms. Barton. This place is
red hot.”</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQnQ46k6rKMT658reivYH4O_1WSg7e_lPHb47I412RrZ0kC6VyDQewaxpmj6NJTptjfUEpKuzoFm1uDR2AJd76mnCk5Vnr_wACVUiS7v2qDSlN_ROlr_lV8V_JYhbGP5cMPv2CgVcGoI/s1600/chudflamer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcQnQ46k6rKMT658reivYH4O_1WSg7e_lPHb47I412RrZ0kC6VyDQewaxpmj6NJTptjfUEpKuzoFm1uDR2AJd76mnCk5Vnr_wACVUiS7v2qDSlN_ROlr_lV8V_JYhbGP5cMPv2CgVcGoI/s320/chudflamer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The man she
called Harve pressed forward, while the woman cradled her arm around him,
assuring, “It’s alright. We don’t want to hurt you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
nodded. She asked, “Do you know who that was?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg nodded
again, and squeezed her hand, and spoke softly, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
looked at the boy perplexed, as she guided him back in the direction he’d
entered. “Come on. Let’s get you fixed up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> The
troop emerged from the tall cavern, stopping dead. Barton and the boy were
last. She made a frustrated inquiry, “Do we have a medic kit?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She went
ignored as the other men stood on guard. The man with the flame thrower
pressed, “So, what now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Harve
blasted, giving away his own confusion, “Give me a minute!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The other
men in suits made exasperated shifts and sighs. The man with the fire said what
was on everyone else’s mind, “You have absolutely no goddamn idea what you’re
doing, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
scrambled, “We’re up against something unknown. It’s never been studied in
captivity.” He trailed off, and picked up again, trying to stave off all doubt.
“They’re searching for food. But once it’s light out, they’ll seek shelter. So,
we’ll set up base here. Sweep the area in the meantime.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
flame-bearer spoke up again, “We’re not sweeping a damn thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve shot
him a look of sheer astonishment. Donna had grown weary of the situation
herself, and interjected, “You don’t even know how many of them there are, do
you? Could be five. Could be an entire colony.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A sense of
betrayal swelled up in Harve as he began to sweep the area with his counter in
a vain attempt to pick up a trail. The machine in his hand clacked frantically,
no matter what direction he moved in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greg
immediately knew these people were hunting for the thing he and his friends had
seen the day before – the thing he had hoped would take his stepfather, even at
the risk of succumbing to it himself. He was prepared to never leave that cave
to spare his mother from the man who’d made both of their lives an increasingly
hotter hell over the past years. Then his mind whipped back to his friends. But
he was in no condition to summon any words, as shock had set in, and he was
fading fast from the blood loss. Every ounce of his constitution funneled into
his ability to stay conscious.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
reasoned, “They’ll be back come sun up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Donna
ripped his logic to shreds with one colorful statement, “They could be marching
down Main Street for all you know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve’s
face went slate white once again, and he muttered something indiscernible.
Donna looked down at the boy in her arms, his open eyes froze and unmoving. She
knew he was gone, and no one around her had lifted a finger to stop it. She
resigned, and took advantage of the apathy toward the child’s well-being by
slipping back into the cavern. Nobody noticed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
continued sweeping the area with his counter, attempting to lead the men in
some certain direction, but the counter continued its rapid racket in every
general direction. He stumbled, his feet caught on something. He toppled
forward with a scream. Harve struggled to get to his feet, pushing himself up
off the object underneath him as the soldiers came to his aid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One of the
men shined a light down on Harve. His yellow suit was covered in a red viscus,
and it didn’t take more than a moment before they realized the NRC man had
tripped over a mangled carcass – recognizable as human by the denim clad
portions of the corpse. A few of the remaining limbs were a tangle, with one
hand on a defensively posed arm torn completely off. One of the troops pushed
long strands of hair out of the marred face of the stout victim. He remarked,
“Another kid. Fresh kill. Can’t be far.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Harve
gagged as he scrambled to untangle the intestines caught around his boots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The man
with the fire retrieved Harve’s Geiger counter, which had landed square in a
mash of trampled organs, clattering madly. “She may be onto something,” he
said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> “There’s
no telling how many there are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
gruesomely painted counter’s activity began to rise steadily. The troops took
this cue back away from the woods, and as they did the man with the fire saw
the first set of eyes peering back at him from beyond a cluster of brush. More
began to emerge as a strange, beastly sound gathered a collective momentum.
Within the course of one single minute, the woods were like a sky mad with
stars as an army of iridescent eyes bounced back at them, creeping forward
through the blackness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The man
with the fire unleashed a blaze as a matter of instinct, torching several
trees. The other men pulled their triggers in a barrage of nonsense, as they
were blinded by the flames. But before their eyes could adjust to the pillars
of fire ahead of them, the first of them had already been taken, arms pulled
from the sockets, and still screaming until one of the cannibal humanoid creatures
took his head. The mouth gargled out the last few seconds of a scream even
after it had been rendered from its body.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Countless
numbers swarmed the men, cleaving through yellow HAZMAT material with teeth and
claws, and gulping down gullets of flesh, while dragging limbs and whole
waggling corpses in the throes of death twitching into the darker recesses of
the forest, away from the flames that had already begun to fan out across the
forest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In a flash
of tooth and arterial spray, the clearing was only littered with shreds of
meat, yellow plastic, and guns, and the storm of flame gleamed across the blood
soaked foliage. All the while, the counter continued to clack madly, eventually
drowned out by the sound of far-off animals bickering over the last shreds of a
feast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">XIII – EPILOGUE – TWO DAYS LATER…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Goldie made
the drive up to Green Briar on a quarterly basis rather than deal with the
miniscule markup from some inner-city distributor. Some would call him cheap,
but he preferred shrewd. Those were the only four days where Goldie’s truck was
shuttered up on its lot as he made the drive up in his beater sedan at some
nauseatingly early hour. He was a hard man, but even he usually enjoyed the
reprieve of the lush, green trees that hemmed in the two lane road that wound
through the hills and into that sad little hot dog town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But today
was a let-down. As Goldie chugged up the grade, the usually picturesque scene
was nearly apocalyptic. The air was thick with smoke and stray ash, all wafting
from the former forest, now a wasteland of what looked like withered
matchsticks stretching back into the mountains. The fire that had started
several days prior had raged for some time before the heavens took mercy and
opened up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As Goldie
rolled onto Main Street, another eerie difference set in. Green Briar was
always a dead-end sort of town, but the remainders who clung to their positions
were always the kind of folks who gave the local diner a reason to crack their
doors before dawn, and the rich smell of coffee permeated the early morning
hours. But this time there was no coffee. The diner’s lights were dim. There
were a few stray cars parked along the street, but otherwise, not a single sign
of life was apparent. Atmosphere is best described as the soul of a place. The
soul was somehow gone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Goldie
continued his cruise, wondering if Green Briar Franks had folded up business
and killed the town. But his speculation
halted when his eye caught something in the middle of the road. His breaks
screeched and his car lurched to a stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Annoyed,
Goldie got out of his idling car and ambled toward a manhole cover lying in the
middle of the road, fifteen feet from the sewer opening ahead. Goldie strained to lift the huge iron lid
onto its rim, rolling it toward its rightful place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Goldie let
loose as the manhole cover got momentum going toward the open hole in the road,
letting it drift into place, collapsing half-way over where it ought to be.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCTeN-6qhr-SU8MyWu2rc0K2WYotD0r5E2u2RhSZgdk955vNDpkEheQ7FgtbzRDdzwp1W0tmf-f3yr6eoUyWVBgEv0fyI1pwGL9qDbJQhDN1jsAia97OFpGuoWe_FBEJH63sE5dWZICk/s1600/chudmanhole.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVCTeN-6qhr-SU8MyWu2rc0K2WYotD0r5E2u2RhSZgdk955vNDpkEheQ7FgtbzRDdzwp1W0tmf-f3yr6eoUyWVBgEv0fyI1pwGL9qDbJQhDN1jsAia97OFpGuoWe_FBEJH63sE5dWZICk/s320/chudmanhole.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Hovering
over the open sewer, Goldie paused when his eye caught a flash of something
below – something like the reflection of a cat’s eye, which blinked out as soon
as he met it. And then there was the sound of something sloshing below. Goldie
chuckled as scooted the manhole back into its slot, and said to himself, “The
rats is big out here, too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">FIN</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Copyright 2017 Bowie Ibarra, Maximillian Meehan</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-90604475145735484272017-02-01T15:40:00.001-08:002017-02-01T15:40:56.754-08:00FIGHTS: Brantwijn Serra Rides in the Weird West<div style="text-align: center;">
ZBFBOOKS.COM HAD A CHANCE TO SHOOT THE BREEZE WITH</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A WEIRD WESTERNER </div>
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Brantwijn Serra - I'm writing out of sunny SoCali, which is not the most ideal place for a pluviophile like me, but it has it's charms.</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - How did you find the Weird West?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - In college a friend introduced me to a pen-and-paper roleplaying game called Deadlands, and I got sucked in really hard. I've loved Weird West ever since.</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Any favorites or inspirations?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - Well, as you might guess from my answer above, I adore the story behind Deadlands and it's "sequel", Hell on Earth. But other favorites include High Plains Drifter and the Dark Tower series.</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Tell us about your book.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - My book "The Pact" is the first in a 7-8 book series. A lot of story is inspired by the Deadlands games my college friends and I, though I incorporated Norse mythology and paranormal folklore into the tale as well. It's the story of a frontier bounty hunter with the magic of the paranormal world at her fingertips, and her mission to track down a man who wronged her years ago. To be sure she has the ultimate edge in her battle, she's struck a deal with a supernatural spirit, swearing herself to host it's presence in her own body in exchange for its power.</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Where can readers find your book?</span><br />
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<a href="http://champagnebooks.com/store/index.php?id_product=675&controller=product" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh29hrgxMa08TgtqpJVprI8TpNYJpxx4Iyu1Syk8JsgGLfnFcF5_RMwb9sBxQM22BWzTpZxDTpfdTI_GzCP-v2nK2Lit98bNwoZsJA5jlZhcLVblVvQILKK9qkvU1F9QQ3MdvkMs-pnZ0I/s320/brajt.jpg" width="207" /></a> </div>
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - It's always nice if folks purchase the book direct from the publisher's site <a href="http://tinyurl.com/zmaweo3" target="_blank">HERE </a> </span><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">because it really, really helps small presses stay alive. My publisher for The Pact is Champagne Book Group. But if readers must go through Amazon, they can also find it there (</span><a href="http://relinks.me/B01M27C3CX" rel="nofollow noopener" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">http://relinks.me/B01M27C3CX</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">). It's also available on Barnes and Noble, for Nook users.</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - How can readers follow your work?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - Folks can follow me on Facebook and Twitter, as well as G+, Pinterest, Instagram, and Tumblr. I'm Brantwijn pretty much wherever you go...</span><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><br style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;" /><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - What are we drinking if we ever hang out?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">B - I'm not much of a drinker but I do love me a good Angry Orchard.</span><br />
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the Weird West title 'The Cruel Fate of Dr. Brewster McGill', available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">paperback </a>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Kindle </a><span style="background-color: transparent;">format. Network with Bowie at his official website, </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;">ZBFbooks.com</a><span style="background-color: transparent;">.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #29aae1; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #29aae1;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68xqJKQxMbX6_8kg0Vpy52i93VitE3cOh-7JUrMRlAyf1zb_mzHXPeglpe_gavSDLgJZdV7qd4U9MNifnsmQz7JtbxZm5_8TeOejrN8mmEFzCiqRczpdQ4Q0n1105zPVlpX6XpBnY2BY/s320/Brewster%252520front%252520cover.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="205" /></a></span></div>
Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-19504765702167791512017-01-21T07:29:00.001-08:002017-01-21T07:29:18.949-08:00FIGHTS - The Weird Westerner: THE REAL #WEIRDWEST: Mailbox Baseball in the Weird...Here's a reblog of a great Weird West Article from Frank Fronash. Check it out.<br /><br />
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<a href="http://frankfronash.blogspot.com/2017/01/the-real-weird-west-mailbox-baseball-in.html?spref=bl">The Weird Westerner: THE REAL WEIRD WEST: Mailbox Baseball in the Weird...</a>: I believe in aliens like I believe in spooks. I mean, we have to have a soul, look at us! The things we get up to and damn few ...Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-74313492558730117062017-01-15T10:15:00.000-08:002017-01-15T10:15:00.839-08:00FIGHTS: The Weird West with Dominic Stabile<div id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6640" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in;">
<span style="color: #4b4f56; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">A STRONG VOICE IN THE WEIRD WEST GENRE SITS DOWN WITH ZBFBOOKS.COM<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI80QAupxYE-j1F229iFTTR5yAfJ56eoDRxyz_EDHlswqvQneI8uMMUPAofw2-qeDi7oYuMGTu7-GiixyagSz1ZyAcF_XS-UgSsx4WfJYl2JGmIgNG4f-rh5B-ZTJNQBAwR_O_n3Lu2JY/s1600/stablie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI80QAupxYE-j1F229iFTTR5yAfJ56eoDRxyz_EDHlswqvQneI8uMMUPAofw2-qeDi7oYuMGTu7-GiixyagSz1ZyAcF_XS-UgSsx4WfJYl2JGmIgNG4f-rh5B-ZTJNQBAwR_O_n3Lu2JY/s320/stablie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6645" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6646" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">ZBFbooks.com - What part of the world are you writing out of?</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6649" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6650" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Dominic Stabile - I’m currently living in a small Maine town called Penobscot. I’m from South Carolina, so most of my fiction takes place in the South East.</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6661" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6662" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">DS - Joe Lansdale’s Jebediah Mercer stories. I had been writing for about a year when I read “Dead Man’s Road” in a Lansdale issue of </span><i id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6663" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6664" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Weird Tales</span></i><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6665" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">. I had never read anything like it. Most of the Horror I had read up to that point would build suspense, reveal the horror, and then end with the character either dying or going mad. I was expecting the same from Dead Man’s Road. But what blew me away was that after the horror was revealed, and the hero, Jebediah, narrowly escaped death, the story kept going. He went after the creature, and the story ended in a climactic battle. It was a refreshing break from the norm, but it also crippled my own writing for years, because nothing I did could stand up to it.</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6676" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6677" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">DS - Well, “Dead Man’s Road,” for sure, as well as the rest of Lansdale’s Mercer stories. A novella of Lansdale’s called “On the far Side of the Cadillac Desert with Dead Folks.” The films </span><i id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6678" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6679" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Seraphim Falls</span></i><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6680" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">, </span><i id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6681" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6682" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Bone Tomahawk, Blood Moon</span></i><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6683" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">, and others I’m sure I missed.</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6690" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6691" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">ZBF - Tell us about your title.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FF9dc0069Gx_SR9ClZ6OWnQOw2B4IE0GlnRXmwjASLvELHqDppO8aqcGCrR9dIy8t9BwVKdcWqb2SY24YhXge0MAGe6gmRS4n-WIlh0wCGvx7CMEDZOR5qE3YeI8fXLhxB3ans_BxX4/s1600/DOMBOOK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4FF9dc0069Gx_SR9ClZ6OWnQOw2B4IE0GlnRXmwjASLvELHqDppO8aqcGCrR9dIy8t9BwVKdcWqb2SY24YhXge0MAGe6gmRS4n-WIlh0wCGvx7CMEDZOR5qE3YeI8fXLhxB3ans_BxX4/s320/DOMBOOK.jpg" width="212" /></a><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6694" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6695" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">DS - The synopsis for </span><i id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6696" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6697" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Full Moon in the West</span></i><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6698" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;"> goes: </span></span><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6699" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Juan “Tezcat” Medina is about to take the law into his own hands. Having lost his wife and daughter to a gang of outlaws, he strikes a deal with a local witch. She can resurrect his family. All he has to do is kill the six outlaws before dawn and bring their souls back to her. But there's something different about this gang of outlaws, something Tezcat isn't aware of until it's too late, and he's forced into a showdown with evil.</span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6702" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">I originally wrote this for an anthology, but never submitted it. The story grew and took a path that didn’t fit with the anthology’s guidelines. By the time I was done, I had a story that was too long to submit to magazines and too short to submit to book publishers. I came across Grinning Skull Press’s Grave Marker Series, which focuses on publishing ebooks of stories in this range. They accepted it, slapped an amazing cover by Jeffrey Kosh on it, and that’s that.</span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6709" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6710" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">ZBF - Man, that sounds like an excellent story. Where can people get your title?</span></span></div>
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<i id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6713" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6714" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6715" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">DS - Full Moon in the West</span></span></i><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6716" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6717" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;"> can be purchased for Kindle <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Full-Moon-West-Grave-Marker-ebook/dp/B01MU3N2K0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484495054&sr=8-1&keywords=full+moon+in+the+west" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6726" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6727" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">ZBF - How can readers keep in touch with your progress?</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6730" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6731" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">DS - I write movie/book reviews at <a href="http://dominicstabile.com/">dominicstabile.com</a>. I’m also active on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/dominic.stabile.5" target="_blank">facebook</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/dominicstabile/" target="_blank">Instagram </a>, and <a href="https://twitter.com/dominicstabile1" target="_blank">twitter </a>. <span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6830" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 15.6933px;">I’ll be giving updates on my progress through the third book in my Scifi/Noir series from Mirror Matter Press (Stone Work is available on Amazon, Stone Wall and Stone Factory pending), as well as my progress on my Horror/Magical Realism novel, The Youth Room.</span></span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6734" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6735" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6736" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">7.</span><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6737" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6738" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; color: #4b4f56;"><span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6739" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?</span></span></div>
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<span id="yiv5234525108yui_3_16_0_ym19_1_1484496513591_6742" style="-webkit-padding-start: 0px; font-family: Calibri;">Oh yes. Maker’s, neat.</span></div>
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the Weird West title 'The Cruel Fate of Dr. Brewster McGill', available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">paperback </a>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Kindle </a><span style="background-color: transparent;">format. Network with Bowie at his official website, </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;">ZBFbooks.com</a><span style="background-color: transparent;">.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #29aae1; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #29aae1;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68xqJKQxMbX6_8kg0Vpy52i93VitE3cOh-7JUrMRlAyf1zb_mzHXPeglpe_gavSDLgJZdV7qd4U9MNifnsmQz7JtbxZm5_8TeOejrN8mmEFzCiqRczpdQ4Q0n1105zPVlpX6XpBnY2BY/s320/Brewster%252520front%252520cover.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="205" /></a></span></div>
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-28544146215151386162017-01-15T09:24:00.001-08:002017-01-15T09:24:44.091-08:00FIGHTS: Alana Melos slings her brand of erotic Weird West<br />
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>DELILAH DEVILSHOT IS DANGEROUS AND DELIGHTFUL</b></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">BY Bowie Ibarra</span><br />
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<a href="https://instafreebie-images-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/inhouse/covers/22954.jpg?v=1483606558" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="The Devil and Delilah" border="0" src="https://instafreebie-images-prod.s3.amazonaws.com/inhouse/covers/22954.jpg?v=1483606558" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBFbooks.com - So Alana, where do you write your erotic weird westerns?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alana Melos - South Dakota. Not the middle of nowhere, but next to it.
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - How did you get into the Weird West?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - Deadlands the game, but I've always sort of like the weird aspect of many genres. It was sort of eye opening to see the old west portrayed in such a cool way!
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Any favorite weird west storties?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - Right now, my favorite is probably Cthulhu Armageddon. Although it's not "technically" weird west, it's a dystopian horror, but it's got that weird west feel to it with the lone gunman hunting down his prey.
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Tell us about your Weird West title.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - My particular series for the Weird West is Delilah Devilshot, which is Weird West erotica. Her family is gunned down and she makes a pact with a devil for revenge. Although it's got a lot of steamy sections in it (it IS erotica!), it's really heavy on plot, action, and characterization as well. I can't write a story, even a sexy one, without heavy plot!
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - I can dig it! Where can folks find your works?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - All of my works are available on Amazon <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Alana-Melos/e/B00U2L1VNC/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1484500533&sr=8-1" target="_blank">HERE</a>, though for this month I am doing a giveaway of The Devil and Delilah at Instafreebie <a href="https://www.blogger.com/(https://www.instafreebie.com/free/bvCD0" target="_blank">HERE</a>. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
ZBF - How can folks keep up with your work?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - Sign up for my mailing list! (see above giveaway at Instafreebie) I'm also pretty active on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AlanaMelosErotica" target="_blank">Facebook </a>and <a href="https://twitter.com/Alana_Melos" target="_blank">Twitter </a> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - And if we're ever in a bar talking erotic fiction, what are we drinking?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;">AM - White Russians. </span><span class="_47e3 _5mfr" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 0; margin: 0px 1px; vertical-align: middle; white-space: pre-wrap;" title="grin emoticon"><img aria-hidden="true" class="img" height="16" src="https://www.facebook.com/images/emoji.php/v6/f51/1/16/1f603.png" style="border: 0px; vertical-align: -3px;" width="16" /><span aria-hidden="true" class="_7oe" style="display: inline-block; font-family: inherit; font-size: 0px; width: 0px;">:D</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> The dude abides.</span><br />
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the Weird West title 'The Cruel Fate of Dr. Brewster McGill', available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">paperback </a>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Kindle </a><span style="background-color: transparent;">format. Network with Bowie at his official website, </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/">ZBFbooks.com</a><span style="background-color: transparent;">.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #29aae1; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" style="color: #29aae1;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj68xqJKQxMbX6_8kg0Vpy52i93VitE3cOh-7JUrMRlAyf1zb_mzHXPeglpe_gavSDLgJZdV7qd4U9MNifnsmQz7JtbxZm5_8TeOejrN8mmEFzCiqRczpdQ4Q0n1105zPVlpX6XpBnY2BY/s320/Brewster%252520front%252520cover.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="205" /></a></span></div>
Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-76109533724872645442017-01-14T15:19:00.001-08:002017-01-14T15:19:20.576-08:00FIGHTS: ZBFbooks Interviews #WeirdWestern Author David J. West<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">DAVID J. WEST BRINGS SOME GREAT TITLES TO THE WEIRD WEST WORLD</span></div>
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by Bowie V. Ibarra</div>
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ZBFbooks.com - What part of the world are you writing out of?
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David J. West - I was born in Utah, grew up in Montana, moved to Utah got married, back to Montana, got divorced, got remarried and moved to LA and then as luck would have it we are back in Utah. So I'm pretty familiar with the American west as I have traveled all over it. I enjoy traveling and seeing the sights wherever I'm at.</div>
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ZBF- What got you into the weird west genre?
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DJW - I've always been into history and mythology and the old west is part of both those worlds. Writing the weird western is just the natural progression for me of blending two things I am fascinated with. Maybe fascinated isn't strong enough. Two things I absolutely love.</div>
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ZBF - Do you have any favorite weird west stories?
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DJW - I'm a HUGE fan of Robert E. Howard and really dig his weird west horror stories Valley of the Lost and The Horror from the Mound and even those that are fantasy that are on the edge of frontier weird west stories like the Conan's tales of Red Nails and Beyond the Black River. I really liked Louis L'amour's Haunted Mesa and for more current authors I dig Joel Jenkins Lone Crow stories, R.S. Belchers Six-Gun Tarot, there are a lot more too numerous to list.</div>
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ZBF - Tell us about your title.</div>
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DJW - Scavengers is about what people will become when they are driven to the edge. I place a lotta bad dudes in an inhospitable desert wasteland (that I am intimately familiar with from numerous wild camping trips) and get to play around. It is based on some real dangerous people = Porter Rockwell and some real yet rumored lost gold stories in the area. I love using that local stuff as a background.</div>
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ZBF - Where can people get your title?
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DJW - For right now, Scavengers and others like Cold Slither are only on Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/David-J.-West/e/B004AIN4W4/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_4" target="_blank">HERE</a>, but I will be making them available in more venues by summertime. That includes audiobooks.
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ZBF - How can readers keep in touch with your progress?
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DJW - There is my newsletter - <a class="_553k" href="https://t.co/Q2cP5JefXt" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://t.co/Q2cP5JefXt</a>
Twitter - <a class="_553k" href="https://twitter.com/David_JWest" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/David_JWest</a>
My blog/website - <a class="_553k" href="http://www.kingdavidjwest.com/" rel="nofollow" style="color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.kingdavidjwest.com/</a>
and I shouldn't be too hard to find on facebook either.</div>
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ZBF - Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?
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DJW - Hahahaha! No, I am in Utah. I'm a sucker for anything with vanilla in it though.</div>
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BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the Weird West title 'The Cruel Fate of Dr. Brewster McGill', available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" target="_blank">paperback </a>and <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Cruel-Fate-Dr-Brewster-McGill/dp/1482685361/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1484435618&sr=8-1&keywords=cruel+fate+mcgill+bowie" target="_blank">Kindle </a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129;">format. Network with Bowie at his official website, </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129;">ZBFbooks.com</a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1d2129;">.</span></div>
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-53291061314777242472017-01-12T09:28:00.001-08:002017-01-12T09:28:55.881-08:00FIGHTS: The Weird Westerner: THE WEIRD WEST GENRE: Soul of the Weird WesternPretty sweet article about the Weird West genre. Check it out.<br />
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<a href="http://frankfronash.blogspot.com/2016/10/the-weird-west-genre-soul-of-weird.html?spref=bl">The Weird Westerner: THE WEIRD WEST GENRE: Soul of the Weird Western</a>: I love the Weird Western for the same way I enjoy a good ol' fashioned 'regular' western. They pit man against the...Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-35367700845176253612016-11-01T08:52:00.001-07:002016-11-01T08:52:25.932-07:00Halloween III Season Of The Witch (1982) ReviewSteve-O's Slasher Sinema tackles the most-maligned Halloween franchise entry, 'Halloween 3-Season of the Witch'<br /><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;">Check it out, and follow SSS on YouTube </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcjcfqLkYEep12qoKQDvwMQ" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;" />.<br /><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of his supernatural horror tale 'Alamo Rising, today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Alamo-Rising-Bowie-Ibarra-ebook/dp/B00FRL2ANM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476314227&sr=8-1&keywords=alamo+rising+bowie+ibarra" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;"></span><br /><br />
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<div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/TAK85U9CS8o/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TAK85U9CS8o?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-78067871173776716972016-11-01T08:46:00.002-07:002016-11-01T08:46:52.130-07:00BLOOD: ZBFbooks.com Editorial - 'The Walking Dead' Head Bashing<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Apparently, some folks are pissing their pants over how 'graphic' and 'violent' that 'The Walking Dead' premiere was.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Since some folks, for whatever reason, didn't get the memo, cc, bcc, what have you, or, perhaps, missed seasons past where an old man got his head lopped off, or several zombie children were shot in the face, etc, etc, let me forward the message: It's a zombie horror-themed show. Graphic violence is part and parcel of zombie horror. Though </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">a good story and fine characterization are fundamental to the overall enjoyment of a zombie horror piece, to be sure, I also tune in, specifically, looking for stuff that is both 'graphic' and 'violent'.<br />Personally, I enjoyed the episode. Since I was also one of those people who didn't open their Christmas gift early, it really hit me hard, and I enjoyed it. Like the land of the living, the land of the dead can be cruel and unforgiving.<br />Ironically enough, in my youth, my zombie smashing weapon of choice was a Louisville Slugger. And, incidentally, I've since changed that to flanged mace. I guess I have a special place in my curséd heart for blunt weapons. Go figure.<br />At any rate, here's a version that might be better for those folks who were expecting something a little less cruel in a world consumed by flesh-eating zombies.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start;"> Pick up a copy of 'Down the Road' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Road-Bowie-Ibarra/dp/1439180695/ref=sr_1_1?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=1473371984&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+down+the+road" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start;" /></div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; display: inline; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-65924437317151637542016-11-01T08:21:00.002-07:002016-11-01T08:31:29.985-07:00BLOOD: Lindsey Beth Goddard releases "Ashes of Another Life"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">GODDARD CREATES TENSE ATMOSPHER IN POLYGAMY-THEMED THRILLER</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ashes-Another-Life-Lindsey-Goddard/dp/0997971703" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiZh2wt6vWot2SVnEiQQQnwzASPKHQGXfDbVUGVR-WtNAHX_HgReuKSqSa9TxObtTp7Cz3cUvNKK95kk02jFTo8dsCpcSRBKlds4eijnPzpd5XyeqbQsUq9ldJepu1V61U29UXSTaLrKs/s1600/ashes.png" /></span> </a></div>
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ZBFbooks.com had a chance to reach out to Lindsey Beth Goddard to talk about her new release, the polygamy thriller 'Ashes of Another Life', available in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ashes-Another-Life-Lindsey-Goddard/dp/0997971703/ref=la_B0072F9VEM_1_8?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1478014151&sr=1-8" target="_blank">paperback</a> or <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ashes-Another-Life-Lindsey-Goddard-ebook/dp/B01KDD4ZCC/ref=la_B0072F9VEM_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1478014151&sr=1-7" target="_blank">Kindle</a>.<br /><br />Here's the synopsis, followed by the interview:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">When Tara Jane Brewer leaves her polygamous community behind after her family dies in a tragic house fire, she is plagued by ghastly images of death. Hunted by a member of the church who plans to bring her home to Sweet Springs at any cost, Tara Jane must fight to keep her freedom. But everywhere she goes, she sees the charred faces of her burned family, watching her, following her, all thirty-four of them, waiting for her to come home and resume her place in the family.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBFbooks.com - How excited are you about your new title? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lindsey Beth Goddard - Super excited! Ashes of Another Life is my first novella. Prior to this book, only my short stories and poetry had been published. Next up will be a novel, of course.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Tell us a little about the story? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - It’s a fictional story based on a real life cult. I’ve been told it’s both disturbing and touching at the same time.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - What’s it about? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - Ashes of Another Life is the story of Tara Jane Brewer, a fourteen year old girl who escapes a dangerous cult when her family dies in a fire. Now, the prophet of her church wants her back - at any cost, and the ghosts of her dead family refuse to rest in peace.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - What made you decide to write a story with this theme? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - In late 2013 and early 2014, I read a lot of non-fiction books on the topic. The seed was planted in my mind, and from there, the story grew.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - How would you describe your writing style?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - Character-driven, suspenseful horror.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - What are some stories you hope to write in the future?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - At some point, I’d like to write an entire book from the perspective of the monster/ villain. It’s nothing new. It’s been done a million times before, but I’m not sure how often it’s been done exceedingly well without falling into the same old cliches. Therein lies the challenge.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - Where can folks keep up with your works?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - Official Website:</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.lindseybethgoddard.com/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">www.LindseyBethGoddard.com</a><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Facebook: </span><a href="https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLindseyGoddard?__mref=message_bubble" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/AuthorLindseyGoddard</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twitter: </span><a href="https://twitter.com/LindseyBethGodd" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/LindseyBethGodd</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Google+: </span><a href="https://plus.google.com/+LindseyGoddard/posts" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">https://plus.google.com/+LindseyGoddard/posts</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tumblr: </span><a href="http://lindseygoddard.tumblr.com/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">http://lindseygoddard.tumblr.com</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Blog: </span><a href="http://www.dirtylittlehorror.com/" rel="nofollow" style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; text-decoration: none; white-space: pre-wrap;" target="_blank">www.DirtyLittleHorror.com</a><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">ZBF - And most importantly, what’s your favorite adult beverage?</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">LBG - Hm. I’ll go with a Long Island Iced Tea. </span><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks so much for the interview, Bowie.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #4b4f56; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #f1f0f0; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pick up Lindsey's title in paperback <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ashes-Another-Life-Lindsey-Goddard/dp/0997971703" target="_blank">HERE </a> and Kindle <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Ashes-Another-Life-Lindsey-Goddard-ebook/dp/B01KDD4ZCC/ref=la_B0072F9VEM_1_7?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1478014151&sr=1-7" target="_blank">HERE</a>.</span></span>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-3410834530395277762016-10-30T12:56:00.000-07:002016-10-30T12:56:59.957-07:00FIGHTS: #Boxing - Marquez/Pacquiao I<span style="font-size: large;">ONE OF THE BEST SLUGFESTS OF ALL TIME</span><br />
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Manny Pacquiao and Juan Manuel Marquez is one of boxing's biggest rivalries. Both sluggers threw down multiple times until Marquez finally got the best of him in a knockout years after this fight.<br />
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But if you haven't seen the first time they threw down, check it out. Both dudes throw down, Rock-Em, Sock-Em robots style. <br />
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Click on the picture below to go to the YouTube page for the fight.<br />
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Enjoy.<br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cx9jzsPv1l8" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4_NhvWrf1ASMin2bnGSD5Eutkjvxo16UbnkRg3gfllm6qtbrnOHOr7MAMIJH6v-nt4iS50nAUHaLxtLs-bEAGdlVj47deP7wYc3STpY3-QMQkJi4Elv3TI-pjr_cFX0z3Qp3OMmPB1s/s320/Marquez+Pac.jpg" width="273" /></span> </a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the ''Pit Fighters" combat sports series, featuring a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpD28Mx2T8I" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Mexican luchador and ladies man named El Aire</a>. He's also the author of 'Sword of the Angel', <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqsH9vqOU4" style="color: #29aae1;" target="_blank">a lucha libre vs. Zombies title</a>. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start;"> Pick up a copy of 'Pit Fighters: Baptism by Fire' or 'Pit Fighters: Double Cross' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bowie+ibarra+pit+fighters&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Abowie+ibarra+pit+fighters" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start;">. Pick up a copy of 'Sword of the Angel' <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Angel-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1494370360/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475629034&sr=8-1&keywords=sword+of+the+Angel+bowie+ibarra" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Or click on the book covers below.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-align: start;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-align: start;"></span></div>
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e A<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=pit+fighters+bowie+ibarra" style="color: #015782; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghejYrp_xWKRa58ia-TA9VaPa9P8TjROq-un-6j2mhoo-SeGCu34AR4evIAeBtT2kLTnJaC5i18gP-9Lm2SLuBZhOKRKPb2WAAr-lJ3eBxp1RJ7uCIc7o5udDKCMDg2paqp11RN0PoCHo/s320/Pit+_FightersBookCover6x9_BW_310a.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="210" /></span> <span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A51jfVFrZTWSot5CdQ9FH1loTTNl2P97pjnAR87ki5w02X6apuURW4niGbMwlGte2jPG_L_6qqLVy5PuwZdrzQDWNjaypNLgT9zbSeHtjlgJpOPajKi9Rm7AlmC-u0CSz-7M4dytYXY/s320/Pitfighters_5X8.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="203" /></span> </a></div>
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-61019423285304444572016-10-30T12:46:00.001-07:002016-10-30T12:46:45.511-07:00FIGHTS: #Netflix #LukeCage is great #Marvel entertainmentZBFbooks.com wants you to know that the Netflix Marvel series 'Luke Cage' comes highly recommended. Great story, great characters, great action. <br />
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Check it out today.<br />
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-6707822301118203962016-10-19T10:46:00.002-07:002016-10-19T10:46:06.888-07:00BLOOD: Movie Review - Rob Zombie's "31"<span style="font-size: large;">ZOMBIE BRINGS ANOTHER ARYSY-FARTSY HORROR JOYRIDE</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">by</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Bowie V. Ibarra</span><br />
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Rob Zombie brings another one of his horror joyrides in 31, and you should check it out.<br />
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The plot is one of his more outrageous ideas about a group of carnies that gets kidnapped by a group of weird aristocrats who dress like their in a stage play of 'Tartuffe'. These aristocrats hire a team of killers for the annual 31 hunt, where the killers track down and hunt the kidnapped folks in a strange underground boiler room.<br />
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The atmosphere is clastraphopic and dreary, which adds to the terror. And as ridiculous as the set-up is, the actors are committed to the parts.<br />
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In the end, like <a href="http://zombiebloodfights.blogspot.com/2013/10/blood-review-lords-of-salem-nightmarish.html" target="_blank">'Lords of Salem'</a>, the whole movie seems to be one big love note to his wife, Sheri Moon. She is always the centerpiece of the story, and always seem to end with her in our eyes.<br />
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Anyway, while the plot is ludicrous, the story is fine and the execution by the cast and arthouse style of Zombie make it work. Check it out.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of his supernatural horror tale 'Alamo Rising, today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Alamo-Rising-Bowie-Ibarra-ebook/dp/B00FRL2ANM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476314227&sr=8-1&keywords=alamo+rising+bowie+ibarra" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;"></span><br />
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-35126568305879991012016-10-19T10:25:00.001-07:002016-10-19T10:27:15.323-07:00FIGHT: Megumi Kudo vs. Shark Tsuchiya (No Ropes Exploding Barbed Wire) 04/29/97We all know Charlotte and Sasha Banks are throwing down in a Hell in a Cell soon. As hardcore as the reputation of the Cell is, we all know the PG era will take any teeth away from the bout.<br />
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But if you don't think lady wrestlers can't be hardcore, then check this grudge match out.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wVvpTGRFGxA?list=PL9127897194C79970" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the ''Pit Fighters" combat sports series, featuring a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpD28Mx2T8I" target="_blank">Mexican luchador and ladies man named El Aire</a>. He's also the author of 'Sword of the Angel', <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqsH9vqOU4" target="_blank">a lucha libre vs. Zombies title</a>. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of 'Pit Fighters: Baptism by Fire' or 'Pit Fighters: Double Cross' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bowie+ibarra+pit+fighters&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Abowie+ibarra+pit+fighters" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">. Pick up a copy of 'Sword of the Angel' <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Angel-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1494370360/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475629034&sr=8-1&keywords=sword+of+the+Angel+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Or click on the book covers below.</span><br />
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e A<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=pit+fighters+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghejYrp_xWKRa58ia-TA9VaPa9P8TjROq-un-6j2mhoo-SeGCu34AR4evIAeBtT2kLTnJaC5i18gP-9Lm2SLuBZhOKRKPb2WAAr-lJ3eBxp1RJ7uCIc7o5udDKCMDg2paqp11RN0PoCHo/s320/Pit+_FightersBookCover6x9_BW_310a.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="210" /></span></span> <span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A51jfVFrZTWSot5CdQ9FH1loTTNl2P97pjnAR87ki5w02X6apuURW4niGbMwlGte2jPG_L_6qqLVy5PuwZdrzQDWNjaypNLgT9zbSeHtjlgJpOPajKi9Rm7AlmC-u0CSz-7M4dytYXY/s320/Pitfighters_5X8.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="203" /></span></span> </a></div>
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-46656770744677573902016-10-19T10:02:00.001-07:002016-10-19T10:06:01.771-07:00FIGHTS: Mitsuharu Misawa vs Kenta Kobashi (31.10.1998)With the emergence of such Japanese wrestling stars as Asuka, Otami, and Nakamura on WWE NXT and the discussion of 'Strong Style', here's a prime example of what those two words mean.<br />
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Check out the brutal AJPW Triple Crown Match between Kenta Kobashi and the late Misuhara Misawa.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/naZNvWwRYiM" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the ''Pit Fighters" combat sports series, featuring a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpD28Mx2T8I" target="_blank">Mexican luchador and ladies man named El Aire</a>. He's also the author of 'Sword of the Angel', <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqsH9vqOU4" target="_blank">a lucha libre vs. Zombies title</a>. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of 'Pit Fighters: Baptism by Fire' or 'Pit Fighters: Double Cross' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bowie+ibarra+pit+fighters&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Abowie+ibarra+pit+fighters" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">. Pick up a copy of 'Sword of the Angel' <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Angel-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1494370360/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475629034&sr=8-1&keywords=sword+of+the+Angel+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Or click on the book covers below.</span><br />
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e A<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=pit+fighters+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghejYrp_xWKRa58ia-TA9VaPa9P8TjROq-un-6j2mhoo-SeGCu34AR4evIAeBtT2kLTnJaC5i18gP-9Lm2SLuBZhOKRKPb2WAAr-lJ3eBxp1RJ7uCIc7o5udDKCMDg2paqp11RN0PoCHo/s320/Pit+_FightersBookCover6x9_BW_310a.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="210" /></span></span> <span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A51jfVFrZTWSot5CdQ9FH1loTTNl2P97pjnAR87ki5w02X6apuURW4niGbMwlGte2jPG_L_6qqLVy5PuwZdrzQDWNjaypNLgT9zbSeHtjlgJpOPajKi9Rm7AlmC-u0CSz-7M4dytYXY/s320/Pitfighters_5X8.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="203" /></span></span> </a></div>
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-61907910671777830732016-10-16T16:14:00.001-07:002016-10-16T16:21:10.463-07:00BLOOD: SSS - The top 10 long forgotten halloween specialsSteve-O comes at you with a great Vlog about old Halloween specials. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;">Check it out, and follow SSS on YouTube </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcjcfqLkYEep12qoKQDvwMQ" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold;">.</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r3rPED5qhdc" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of his 80s style animal horror title, Big Cat, today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Big-Cat-Bowie-Ibarra-ebook/dp/B00SAN156W/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476659877&sr=8-1&keywords=big+cat+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BmKMoF1AXrCFYCZ-PxWgARjhd01nGegwIoTBApJ0UqZaUQflN1EUwEzSVS0_YwEzTQsZRGRn6LrOHqKaNKAi_5GIES_I0HhRaOsmxw0Y3GdAZd7nWHNhw85cQhPkQFQD0lD-GxRxTnk/s1600/1+-+Copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BmKMoF1AXrCFYCZ-PxWgARjhd01nGegwIoTBApJ0UqZaUQflN1EUwEzSVS0_YwEzTQsZRGRn6LrOHqKaNKAi_5GIES_I0HhRaOsmxw0Y3GdAZd7nWHNhw85cQhPkQFQD0lD-GxRxTnk/s320/1+-+Copy.png" width="208" /></a></div>
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<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Sj-CBg2JQng/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Sj-CBg2JQng?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-70083398971669188162016-10-12T16:17:00.001-07:002016-10-12T16:27:21.424-07:00BLOOD: SSS Night of the Demons (1988) ReviewSteve-O's Slasher Sinema comes at you with a review of 'Night of the Demons' with a new format. Check it out, and follow SSS on YouTube <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcjcfqLkYEep12qoKQDvwMQ" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QegwvGAQ8Ac" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of his supernatural horror tale 'Alamo Rising, today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Alamo-Rising-Bowie-Ibarra-ebook/dp/B00FRL2ANM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1476314227&sr=8-1&keywords=alamo+rising+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4_GtkcUb0LMiCCPtCHCWV9T1GVUUAcwmHC-S88fRh5keZHJfokQR9zxA7vRsoMCOUgo1v8L1HyxGaqiX-fIXO-GnE26Ky0cerxm3h14j52Z_gq9L8pnsYgywVO88cNBtj8yjVg4x_po/s1600/Alamo_Rising_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc4_GtkcUb0LMiCCPtCHCWV9T1GVUUAcwmHC-S88fRh5keZHJfokQR9zxA7vRsoMCOUgo1v8L1HyxGaqiX-fIXO-GnE26Ky0cerxm3h14j52Z_gq9L8pnsYgywVO88cNBtj8yjVg4x_po/s320/Alamo_Rising_3.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
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<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/TAK85U9CS8o/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/TAK85U9CS8o?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span>Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-23120925926029477532016-10-04T17:45:00.001-07:002016-10-04T18:00:14.611-07:00FIGHTS: Mask vs. Mask - Atlantis vs Villano IIIIf you've never seen a Mexican lucha libre mask vs. mask match, this one is a great start.<br />
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Villano III vs. Atlantis.<br />
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Check it out.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eMmOBSPA8PM" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the ''Pit Fighters" combat sports series, featuring a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpD28Mx2T8I" target="_blank">Mexican luchador and ladies man named El Aire</a>. He's also the author of 'Sword of the Angel', <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqsH9vqOU4" target="_blank">a lucha libre vs. Zombies title</a>. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of 'Pit Fighters: Baptism by Fire' or 'Pit Fighters: Double Cross' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bowie+ibarra+pit+fighters&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Abowie+ibarra+pit+fighters" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">. Pick up a copy of 'Sword of the Angel' <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Angel-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1494370360/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475629034&sr=8-1&keywords=sword+of+the+Angel+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE</a>. Or click on the book covers below.</span><br />
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e A<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=pit+fighters+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghejYrp_xWKRa58ia-TA9VaPa9P8TjROq-un-6j2mhoo-SeGCu34AR4evIAeBtT2kLTnJaC5i18gP-9Lm2SLuBZhOKRKPb2WAAr-lJ3eBxp1RJ7uCIc7o5udDKCMDg2paqp11RN0PoCHo/s320/Pit+_FightersBookCover6x9_BW_310a.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="210" /></span></span> <span style="color: #015782;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_A51jfVFrZTWSot5CdQ9FH1loTTNl2P97pjnAR87ki5w02X6apuURW4niGbMwlGte2jPG_L_6qqLVy5PuwZdrzQDWNjaypNLgT9zbSeHtjlgJpOPajKi9Rm7AlmC-u0CSz-7M4dytYXY/s320/Pitfighters_5X8.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" width="203" /></span></span> </a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Sword-Angel-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1494370360/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1475629034&sr=8-1&keywords=sword+of+the+Angel+bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih-9spdNJjVcWkrjO6ovLnpaQDiVE1nGtcJGELtSLHl9cgqdO1kqk9ilA9_ZKSRednF7U7G3fnLDOX_eXm8c0sTgaOZWys2Bz92IJl5yuVeb3KuX6Zkw3cpfQMoMKyWgB1SjBLKvd8WyE/s320/SOTA_COVER+kindle.jpg" width="200" /></span> </a></div>
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-7826551917082161932016-10-03T18:33:00.001-07:002016-10-03T18:39:29.535-07:00FIGHTS: SSS #Reviews The Monster Squad (1987) Steve-O's Slasher Sinema returns with a new format and a great classic movie review of 'The Monster Squad'.<br />
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Check it out in the link below and don't forget to subscribe to SSS <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCcjcfqLkYEep12qoKQDvwMQ" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/k3_S-6pc5wA" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of 'Down the Road' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Road-Bowie-Ibarra/dp/1439180695/ref=sr_1_1?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=1473371984&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+down+the+road" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Road-Bowie-Ibarra/dp/1439180695/ref=sr_1_2_twi_pap_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1475545088&sr=8-2&keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="color: #015782; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif;"><span style="border-image: initial; border-radius: 0px; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; font-size: 13px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><b><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid9Gu3OOorsYqoJM_bvgU8itn0hB03uPiOlPGDjLQHAa0MF5qO8ZhJJI_-R03bSYrjBdIVNP0xG2TFSe_u0C_yMpePiBGW4a43ueX2tAA4R9ufwNGGHXP5fK6LtYiu5pTr7Fk_cZgkwiE/s1600/THEBOOK.jpg" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 20px; padding: 8px; position: relative;" /></b></span></span> </a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Road-Last-Bowie-Ibarra/dp/0978970721/ref=sr_1_13?ie=UTF8&qid=1475544801&sr=8-13&keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiANbgH3XMIwunr4ju_Sye73t0oJEtcOc6k2bynNrxyLW4_bZ_Tf2weuCjmVb-3Zm8ceVXjjceIi87Cltz7jHOQH26cdzew-c5X4jzUPbnAsaAfJ8r4kYjT2Lqkrs9R1sSHtL0p0K9_Qb4/s320/3150-1.jpg" width="213" /></span> </a><br />
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Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1702740881177703444.post-23907787388131501132016-10-03T18:16:00.001-07:002016-10-03T18:26:33.502-07:00BLOOD: #Batman Returns: Penguin - My Nose Could Be Gushing Blood'Gotham' has been a great new series for TV, showing the early days of Oswald Cobblepot, supervillain known as 'The Penguin'. But do you remember when Danny DeVito took on the role in 'Batman Returns'?<br />
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Check out this great moment from the flick.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/nIL5nuZmnIA" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px;">BOWIE V. IBARRA is the author of the 'Down the Road' south Texas zombie horror trilogy. Bowie writes Tex-Mexploitation tales with titles that feature zombies, combat sports, horror, lucha libre, the supernatural, and superheroes. Network with Bowie at </span><a href="http://zbfbooks.com/" rel="nofollow nofollow" style="background-color: white; color: #365899; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">ZBFbooks.com.</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;"> Pick up a copy of 'Down the Road' today in paperback or kindle </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Down-Road-Bowie-Ibarra/dp/1439180695/ref=sr_1_1?s=movies-tv&ie=UTF8&qid=1473371984&sr=8-1&keywords=bowie+ibarra+down+the+road" style="background-color: white; color: #015782; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">HERE</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 18.2px;">Pick up these superhero titles from Amazon.com <a href="https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank">HERE </a>in paperback or Kindle.</span></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Codename-Lechusa-Bowie-V-Ibarra/dp/1493703900/ref=sr_1_16?ie=UTF8&qid=1475544281&sr=8-16&keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAt-bbwLaYu6ojw8ICcYBC04umEcYSIBWKBYXncf8xudxpezE3A3b8Q9gwgKg2PmMM2hqtWduF6iGQ-4MubOJZN7VrmBzREssN_c4XDjWkOx_EALiMSNeTAEHFTpTvZ7kfp6QPXaN_frM/s320/la+lechusa+222140A+copy.jpg" width="210" /></span> </a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Room-Xulhutdul-Bowie-Valeriano-Ibarra/dp/1484112407/ref=sr_1_18?ie=UTF8&qid=1475544235&sr=8-18&keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlkuf4aZWCX3a08ENIgnLNQz56-E0_QLWPjIloc4LBG8LRkCJIKQB1h2SgWb4Qi99ZALH67qmejvHLY1yViWKXKqykeqxdAnEniHIgNHTSDm3IRuQKv450crpct_c4yf3CP87hpvwQAfQ/s320/ROOM_26_FULL.png" width="213" /></span> </a></div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Tejano-Star-Vengeance-Chaplain-Skull/dp/1490576886/ref=sr_1_17?ie=UTF8&qid=1475544054&sr=8-17&keywords=bowie+ibarra" target="_blank"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzcKCOa2c9jyTNsJmv616oLxakJkFrwR0__w34WexlYzrOz4xJ_RynH9hYNam5IF-n0ju52ciHfWns9j0X46M4OI5TRZhwnwdV6oPqpOmO8sLdx1IqSLxFb_q__9Y6H_QwtnUvC-WSXFQ/s320/Tejano-Star_KINDLE2.jpg" width="200" /></span> </a></div>
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<br />Bowie Ibarrahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06040114643884109863noreply@blogger.com0