The Chosen (Updated 8-4) - Page 1

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[ARCHIVED THREAD] - The Chosen (Updated 8-4)

Posted: 7/28/2014 5:58:00 PM EDT

Prologue:
<o:p></o:p>

Out
of breath and, even worse, out of time, Beau began to think escape was impossible. Even free, what would they return to? It had been almost twenty-four hours since
the homestead’s perimeter was breached by the Trenton clan and, by now, it was
undoubtedly raped of its loot and burned to the ground. The enormous reserve of grains, dried meats,
munitions, and fuel were likely being pilfered by this merciless brigade of
marauders, who knew nothing of hard work and true survival in these dark
times. Plunder and obliteration of
anything in their paths was their preferred course of action.
<o:p></o:p>

Two
years ago, at the genesis of the epidemic, the thought wouldn’t have even
occurred to Beau that the "norms” would pose more of a threat than the
infected. Sure the infected were violent
when provoked or cornered, and could spread an inexplicable blood-borne virus
that destroyed most every human quality, but they mostly kept to their packs
for their own survival purposes. It was
these pillaging bands of norms; these self-indulging, wasteful, soulless groups
that posed the chief threat to the rapidly decreasing numbers of the human
race.
<o:p></o:p>

Perhaps
born from the desperation of these ominous times, human beings had changed drastically. The problem lay in the fact that complacency,
and the lack of preparedness that accompanied it, left them susceptible to
anything; particularly an epidemic of such apocalyptic proportions. Although
the outbreak was clearly the paramount problem, world-wide lawlessness, and a
valueless currency posed dangers of their own. Society was now at the mercy of a market run
by barter of necessary goods, which quickly created a dividing line between the
"haves” and "have-nots.” For numerous
"have-nots,” this necessitated seizing what they did not possess, by any means required.
Likewise, for many "haves,” this involved defending themselves and their
possessions at any cost. While there
were certainly exceptions to the rule, the great majority of those who faired best were once considered part of the
blue collar echelon of the social stratum; the farmers, the factory workers,
the mechanics and the machinists, to name a few. If you could build, farm, fix things and
fight properly, your odds of survival suddenly increased exponentially. Most importantly, one had to possess the testicular
fortitude to trudge on.
<o:p></o:p>

"Trudging
on” was what Beau had early in life become habituated to. It was when things were running smoothly that
he began to experience intense anxiety; a tendency that his wife had tried
relentlessly to break him of. Beau wasn’t
exceptional in any of these "now-a-days” necessary trades, but he had dabbled
in them all at various points in his life.
He was a bit of a free-spirit, some would say, but mostly it was
necessity that brought him either here or there, allowing him to learn these handinesses. It was preparedness, his ownership of a pawn
shop with many useful treasures, and his avocation for all things guns that
allowed Beau and his wife to make it out before the worst of this
disaster. All in all, he was convinced
it was luck, after a lifetime of having none (with the exception of finding and
marrying Harper).
<o:p></o:p>

All rules of engagement were now absent, Beau
had known that, but to kidnap, enslave, rape, and even consume other human
beings was far more brutal than he was prepared for. Now his pregnant wife lay imprisoned
somewhere in the metal confines of Trenton’s fortress, and the rest of his
tribe enslaved or worse.
<o:p></o:p>

"Hey!
Boss!” a familiar voice said from behind him.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau spun on his heels,
tightening the grip on his K-bar, before loosening it again in relief.
<o:p></o:p>

"Shep! How did you…?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Easy! Found a weakness in the fence and pried one
of them metal panels off. They’re all
too busy looking for you to worry about all of us worker bees.” Shep said, clearly
proud of his feat.
<o:p></o:p>

The
metal panels that Tom Sheppard was referring to were sections of corrugated
steel ripped from many of the old farm houses in the area, and repurposed to
produce a twenty foot tall steel wall that was originally intended to keep the
infected out, but now operated mainly to keep the enslaved in. Only hours before, Beau had been a member of
the unlucky horde.
<o:p></o:p>

"Why
are they after you anyways?” Shep inquired, cocking his mountain of a melon.
<o:p></o:p>

"I
killed Bobby Trenton.” The words tasted sugar sweet spilling from Beau’s busted
lips. "Did everyone make it out?” he asked, not completely willing to know the
answer.
<o:p></o:p>

Shep hung his head and
placed his big calloused paw on Beau’s shoulder.
<o:p></o:p>

"Well
boss… I’m pretty sure everyone in the slave quarters got out. You shoulda seen it boss! I freed ‘em all! Mary, Sam, Catherine and the baby are out for
sure! I made positive of that!”
<o:p></o:p>

That left Jack, Wes and
Harper unaccounted for.
<o:p></o:p>

"I’m so sorry
boss… I looked for her, I promise.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Are
the others meeting you at the rendezvous?” Beau said, trying not to let the
fire within consume him.
<o:p></o:p>

"Yes
boss. They’re already headed up river,
I’m sure… Hey boss? We may not see you
again, right? I mean… You’re going back
for them… For her, aren’t you?”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau reluctantly nodded
at the man who had saved his life, and that of his wife’s, more times than he
could count.
<o:p></o:p>

"Thank
you for everything Shep. You’re a good
friend…”
<o:p></o:p>

Posted: 7/28/2014 9:58:31 PM EDT

[#1]

Chapter
1:
<o:p></o:p>

He
watched in slow motion as the bullet tore a hole into the thigh of his olive
drab cargo pants. It was the searing
pain in his leg that, at last, jolted Beau from his sleep. He did a quick check for blood, swiping a hand
down the inside of his pajama pants. "Thank God. Just a dream,” Beau said wiping the perspiration
from the nape of his neck and forehead.
<o:p></o:p>

It
was the third night in a row Beau’s dreams had awakened him abruptly and
violently from sleep. The doctor said it
was RBD and parasomnia, but to Beau it was simply a hindrance to a good night’s
snooze. Night terrors and uncontrollable
flailing about in his sleep, symptoms of the disorders, had plagued him most of
his life, eventually leading to his troubles with insomnia. A cocktail of Ambien
and Klonopin were prescribed for the symptoms only weeks ago, but the side
effects of the drugs, in Beau’s mind, seemed equally alarming as the disorders themselves. His dreams now appeared more vivid, more tangible,
and increasingly more difficult to wake from.
<o:p></o:p>

"That’s
it babe. I’m not taking that stuff anymore.”

<o:p></o:p>

Beau
shook his head groggily and stretched an arm out to his wife’s side of the bed,
only to make contact with a dense coat of fur. The sleep meds always left him feeling too slow
and disoriented in the mornings for him to distinguish fact from fiction. Yet, this particular morning, his dreams
quickly gave way to reality.
<o:p></o:p>

"Delilah!
Get down!” shouted Beau, embarrassed by the loving caress he had just given his
Labrador; one that was rightfully intended for his wife.
<o:p></o:p>

Delilah
let out a powerful yawn; tongue extended and curled. Displeased and still a bit groggy herself,
she grudgingly leapt from the comfort of the bed.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
vaguely remembered Harper kissing him goodbye before she left for work, but he
couldn’t be positive. He inched his way
to the side of the bed, slid his feet over its edge, and was suddenly seized by
the display of digits on his bedside alarm clock.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ten
forty five!” Beau said, stunned by his ineptitude to wake up on time.
<o:p></o:p>

Frustration
building, he darted for the bathroom and started a hot shower. Five minutes later, Beau emerged, steam wisping
from his body. He was hurriedly toweling
off, when his reflection suddenly grabbed his attention.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ugh…
What happened to you buddy?” he questioned himself disappointingly.
<o:p></o:p>

He
proceeded to pinch a fold of skin at his midsection. As the mirror began to fog with the escaping
steam from the open shower door, Beau was snapped back into the present.
<o:p></o:p>

"Late! I’m so freakin’ late!”
<o:p></o:p>

He left the bathroom feeling
slightly refreshed, but not quite the cliché "new man.”
<o:p></o:p>

Samson,
Beau’s male Labrador (Delilah’s male counterpart), lay blocking the entry to
the closet. Beau gave him a quick nudge
in the rump, which Samson responded to with a grumble before lackadaisically moving
out of his master’s way. Beau considered
the weather momentarily, and quickly decided on a pair of jeans, gray t-shirt,
and old leather work boots. Still in the
process of tucking in his shirt and fastening his belt, he hustled to the
kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee.
Samson and Delilah fell into
formation behind him.
<o:p></o:p>

"Area
hospitals are reporting an influx of admissions, with patients complaining of
severe flu-like symptoms. Although this
influx is also being recounted nationwide, the US Department of Health and
Human Services released a statement stating that it is, as of yet, no cause for
alarm; advising citizens to simply take precautions with flu-vaccinations. In other local news, a Garland man was…”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
found the remote buried between the cushions of the couch, and mashed the red
power button with his forefinger.
<o:p></o:p>

"Isn’t
there such thing as ‘good’ news these days?” he said to himself, hurrying to the
kitchen.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
quickly plucked a travel mug from the cupboard and reached for the glass carafe.
"Damnit,” he said aloud, as he slammed the empty mug onto the old Formica countertop.
Beau stood, staring at the
electroluminescent display of the automatic coffee maker that now displayed the
word "off.” His oversleeping had
exceeded the two hour brew timer. Running
late or not, Beau was unwilling to acquiesce to defeat so easily. He poured a cup of the lukewarm java into the
biggest ceramic mug he could find, microwaved it for a minute and a half, until
it was searing hot, and quickly transferred it to his travel mug.
<o:p></o:p>

A long winded sigh from Samson was the dog’s subtle
reminder that he had morning business to attend to. Delilah concurred with a shrill yip.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ugh,” Beau groaned.
"I’m sorry guys. Common, go
outside.”
<o:p></o:p>

He made the five-mile commute to Quinlan, Texas’ one and
only pawn shop, pulling into the parking lot at 11:20 a.m.; nearly an hour and
a half after the store was to be opened.
A rusty brown Ford pickup was the lot’s only other occupant, and
belonged to the shop’s only other employee, Tom Sheppard.
<o:p></o:p>

EZ
4U Pawn, was originally owned by Paul Prideaux and, under its original
proprietor, was aptly named Paul Prideaux’s Pawn & Go. The pawn shop was not the only business in
the small East Texas town that was adorned with the Prideaux name. Mr. Prideaux was considered, by all who knew
him, a shrewd business man and even more so, as a "mean son-of-a bitch.” Not only did he own a great deal of the
town’s commerce, but was said to also own many of its local officials. As a result of his father’s questionable
business and political dealings, Beau thought it best to remove his surname
from the building’s sign once he had inherited it.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau’s
mother had left his father when Beau was only four years old. After an eleven month messy matrimonial court
battle, it was Paul Prideaux that ended up with sole custody of their son. However, it appeared Anna Prideaux was more
than content with her earnings from the divorce. Lacking the love and affection of a mother, Beau
spent an inordinate amount of his youth attempting to please his father, in
hopes of filling the void. He was a
straight A student, a top notch athlete (in both football and baseball), and a young
entrepreneur; starting his own lawn mowing business at fourteen years old. He would often tell his father his plans of
following in his footsteps; graduating from Southern Methodist University with
a major in business management, followed by a career in business
acquisition. In the end, Beau’s attempts
at receiving his fathers’ praise, or even some sign of warmth, were alternatively
met with utter indifference. It wasn’t
too far into his teen years that Beau had finally given up on ever experiencing
a "real life” father-son bond, and so began the rebellion against Paul Prideaux
and everything he, and men like him, represented.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
graduated high school and left the small town of Quinlan, Texas in hopes of
blazing his own trail, without the help of his father’s pocket book. Instead, he found work as an auto mechanic in
Dallas, busting his knuckles against Detroit iron for eleven dollars and fifty
cents an hour. When he had saved enough money,
he traveled west in search of adventure, only to end up working as a ranch hand
in El Paso for a couple of years. When
the ranch was bought out by a West Texas beef producing tycoon, Beau found
employment as a roughneck on an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. At the age of twenty-three, Beau grew tired
of his rambler lifestyle and decided to pursue a career in law enforcement;
which, he would later claim, might have been a subconscious attempt to bring all
of the Paul Prideauxs of the world to justice.
<o:p></o:p>

It
was while attending the Eastfield Community College Criminal Justice Academy in
Mesquite, Texas that he met Harper. Beau
and a handful of his male cohorts from class were congregated in the campus’s
west parking lot, when the petite brunette lugging a camera case and an
oversized backpack shuffled past. A
form-fitting white tank and cut-off jean shorts showcased her firm, yet
delicate body. He wasn’t the first of
the group to notice the attractive, yet seemingly clumsy, young woman.
<o:p></o:p>

"Hey
gorgeous! Need some help there?”
hollered one of the shaven headed criminal justice students.
<o:p></o:p>

"No,
I’m fine thanks,” she retorted, aware of, but paying no attention to, the
high-fives and lewd gestures taking place behind her.
<o:p></o:p>

Attempting
to one-up the last guy, another called out, "Hey! Do you work at Subway? Because you just gave
me a footlong!”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
cringed, as the young woman spun on her heels and stomped towards his classmate. Her long dark pony-tail swung from side to
side in rhythm to her swift stride, and to Beau’s ever-increasing heart beat.
<o:p></o:p>

"Oh yes! That’s
such a turn on! Please take me back to
your place!” Harper said, quickly approaching the bad-mannered young male,
before stopping only inches from him.
"Common! Does that actually work for you?”
<o:p></o:p>

The cat-caller’s smile gave way to a grimace, as he
braced himself for the inevitable slap.
Instead, the fiery, slight, brunette patted him on the head and bitingly
whispered into his ear.
<o:p></o:p>

"Manners
go a long way with members of the opposite sex, ok Casanova?” She turned, flashing a breathtaking smile at
Beau, as if to say "I hope you learned something from this,” and went on her
way.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau couldn’t escape the thought of her all through
class. He had dated many girls, but she
was without doubt different. She appeared
sure of herself and confident of her place in the world. She was beautiful, yet seemed blissfully
unaware of the fact.
<o:p></o:p>

After the three hour lecture on concepts of interviews
and interrogations, Beau left the building and headed for the lot where he had
parked his truck. To his surprise, the
bottom half of a petite, jean–shorts clad, brunette dangled out from beneath the
hood of an old VW bug convertible.
Again, Beau’s heart began to palpitate.

<o:p></o:p>

"Uh, you need some help with that?” Beau asked trying to
mask his nervousness. "Wait, let me guess… No thanks, your fine?”
<o:p></o:p>

A chuckle came from beneath
the hood, as her grease-smudged upper half emerged.
<o:p></o:p>

Posted: 7/28/2014 9:58:54 PM EDT

[#2]

"I should’ve known better than to wear white.” she said,
wiping her hands on the cut-offs and flashing the same captivating smile as
before. "Actually, some help would be
nice.”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau extended a hand, "I’m
Beau Prideaux.”
<o:p></o:p>

She laughed again, this
time tossing her head back.
<o:p></o:p>

"That sounds like the name of a used car dealership
owner, or some heir to a Louisiana plantation!” she said playfully. "How did
you end up with a name like that?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Yeah, I get that a lot. I was named after my great-grandfather.” Beau paused a moment to reconsider telling
her the rest. He had grown to despise
speaking of his past; particularly when it came to his lineage.
<o:p></o:p>

"My Great-Granddad Prideaux did own a bit of
land in Sabine Parish, but most of that was sold a long time ago,” he managed,
with a forced air of indifference.
<o:p></o:p>

"You’re
kidding!” she taunted, "A real life antebellum heir?”
<o:p></o:p>

Realizing
that something in the young man’s expression spoke of deep shame and
resentment, she quickly corrected herself. "Umm…
Sorry, I hope I didn’t offend you.”
She squinted into the light of the fading sun. He hadn’t really seen her eyes until now; he had
only known they were bright and lively.
Now he could see their brilliant emerald hue. Beau smiled, "I didn’t catch your name.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Oh… Right. I’m Harper…
Harper Day,” she said, glad that the awkwardness of the moment had concluded so
quickly and effortlessly.
<o:p></o:p>

"Harper…” Beau said aloud, committing her name to
memory. He envisioned some internal
secretary deep within him filing away the name "Harper Day” in a manila folder
titled "I’m in love.” His face reddened
at the thought.
<o:p></o:p>

"My
parents’ favorite book is ‘To Kill a Mocking Bird,’ so they named me Harper,
after Harper Lee.”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau chuckled.
Here was his opportunity to give her tit for tat.
<o:p></o:p>

"Wasn’t that the only book she ever published?”
<o:p></o:p>

"She is a Pulitzer Prize winning author! She was given the Presidential Medal of
Freedom for that book!” she said defensively.
Although, she was slightly impressed that he knew that little piece of
trivia.
<o:p></o:p>

Beaux’s chuckle gave way to a belly laugh. "I’m just
teasing you! It’s a great book, and it’s
a beautiful name. At least it doesn’t
sound like the name of a used car-dealership owner, right?” She offered a reassuring smile in response.
<o:p></o:p>

He
repaired the broken throttle cable linkage on the 1975 saffron yellow Volks
Wagon Beetle, as the two exchanged stories of their pasts, family, future
plans, favorite movies, and so on. Harper
pulled out a portfolio of various pictures she had taken, explaining the
meanings of photographic terms like "the rule of thirds” and "the golden mean,”
and why she had chosen to pursue a career in photography.
<o:p></o:p>

"It’s the most beautiful way of capturing little slices
of life. It’s my own way of interpreting
everything around me; the order, the disorder, the happy, the sad, the
idiosyncrasies in the world that make it such a beautiful place.” She paused, "So what about you? Why law enforcement?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Couldn’t find anything better to do I guess. Plus, it would feel pretty good locking up
scumbags.”
<o:p></o:p>

The
conversation turned into a date over burgers and fries, leading to a second and
third date, until the pair was inseparable.
They married a year later.
<o:p></o:p>

Posted: 7/28/2014 10:18:20 PM EDT

[#3]

Good story so far. One bit of criticism. Please remove all the <o:p></o:p> from the body of the story. It will make it so much easier to read.

Posted: 7/28/2014 10:21:16 PM EDT

[#4]

Quote History

Quoted:

Good story so far. One bit of criticism. Please remove all the <o:p></o:p> from the body of the story. It will make it so much easier to read.

View Quote

Thats just because of the format in Word. There is nothing I can do about that short of manually deleting it from ARF.

Posted: 7/28/2014 10:55:12 PM EDT

[#5]

Nice so far. Check your title and see if it's clear.

Posted: 7/29/2014 12:51:40 AM EDT

[#6]

....
<o:p></o:p>

"OK! Last one!
Look slightly over your left shoulder and up at the camera.”
<o:p></o:p>

Harper balanced atop a
ladder, pointing her Canon EOS 1Ds Mark II at the bubbly bride to be below her.
<o:p></o:p>

"Raul. Can you
stand on the other ladder and scatter some of those rose petals?”
<o:p></o:p>

Raul cocked a neatly sculpted
eyebrow, but proceeded to assist.
<o:p></o:p>

"Let them fall slowly… Not so many at once!” ordered Harper,
oblivious to Raul’s mounting irritation.
<o:p></o:p>

The
twenty-something busty blonde, donned in a creampuff of a milky-white wedding
gown, lifted her arms toward the falling red petals and, to Harper’s amazement,
at last unleashed a natural smile. A
quick burst of camera flashes ensued.
<o:p></o:p>

"That’s a wrap!”
<o:p></o:p>

She
climbed down the ladder, taking extra precautions to protect the expensive
equipment that now dangled from the strap around her neck. The Canon had been a gift from Beau that previous
Christmas. Had he purchased it in the
usual manner, it would’ve cost upwards of nine-thousand dollars. However, this particular camera was brought
to the pawn shop and hocked for a mere nine-hundred bucks. The patron was obviously in desperate need of
some quick cash, or was otherwise completely ignorant of the camera’s true
value. In any case, Beau bought it
without a moment’s hesitation, thrilled at knowing the happiness it would bring
to his wife.
<o:p></o:p>

Harper
was undoubtedly thrilled with Beau’s gift.
Having the newer, high-end camera meant having the ability to make more
money; something the Prideauxs were endlessly struggling for. It wasn’t Harper’s lack of ability in this medium
that caused her business to prove less
than lucrative; quite the contrary. She
had won countless awards for her photographic work, and had several of her
photos published and sold. It was merely
the fact that potential clients would seek services elsewhere, upon learning
that she was still using film and had not "upgraded” to digital photography. Harper would argue that it was the artist, not
the artist’s equipment, that determines quality, but her appeals always seemed
to fall on deaf ears. With her business
decreasing at an exhausting rate, she had only two options; either give in to the
digital medium or give up on her passion, in exchange for what her father
termed "a real job.” So it was, Harper’s
business grew more profitable with Beau’s gift of the fancy Canon camera. More importantly, it allowed her to continue
doing what she loved. Still, when she
was feeling nostalgic, she would pull out one of her half-dozen old film
cameras, and shoot; just to reassure her old friends of her undying loyalty.
<o:p></o:p>

"Not
the most photogenic girl was she?” Raul jeered.
<o:p></o:p>

The
slenderly-built, always well-groomed Raul, again raised an eyebrow
condescendingly. Harper always marveled
at this expression. She imagined it took
him years of practice to perfect an expression so pompous.
<o:p></o:p>

"Look,”
Harper said, handing the camera over to him.
<o:p></o:p>

Raul
peered into its optical viewfinder. "Well,
well! Look who got the shot! Excellent work my little protégé!”
<o:p></o:p>

Harper
rolled her eyes. "Protégé my ass,
Raul! I don’t recall you ever teaching
me a thing!” Harper countered playfully.

<o:p></o:p>

Raul
chuckled, "I knew that would get you riled up!
I am truly impressed princess. It
only took you a few dozen shots, but you finally managed to crack that
Beauty-Pageant Contestant facade.”
<o:p></o:p>

"It
was just a matter of lightening her up.
Throwing something unexpected at her; taking her off her guard… I agree
though, her smiles were so damned forced I thought her face would crack!”
Harper said with a wide grin.
<o:p></o:p>

Just
then, the well-endowed bride-to-be approached the two, this time adorned in a
pair of tight jeans and a snug, midriff exposing blouse, which also showcased
her double Ds.
<o:p></o:p>

"Y’all
did an amazing job!” she declared with a slight Texas twang. She winked at Raul. "You AND your assistant.” special emphasis on
the word "and.”
<o:p></o:p>

Harper
bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. "Why, thank you Amanda. It was a pleasure. I’ll have the proofs to you sometime next
week.”
<o:p></o:p>

When
the door to the studio was shut and she could no longer hear the "click clack”
of stilettos on the pavement, Harper began to howl with laughter.
<o:p></o:p>

"My assistant! HA!”
Harper teased, still laughing hysterically.
<o:p></o:p>

Raul snorted in
disgust.
<o:p></o:p>

"I guess she didn’t see the words ‘Raul Vargas’ on the
sign out front? For God sakes, today I’m
shooting George W. Bush for the cover of Texas Monthly and here, this, AMANDA has
no idea who I even am!”
<o:p></o:p>

His
apparent irritation only encouraged Harper to press the issue a bit further. Though close friends, there was always a
competitive edge to their relationship.
<o:p></o:p>

They
had met while interning for Jacob Ivanov, a well-known Dallas area photographer,
during their college years at the University of North Texas. Unlike most of her peers, Harper was a
transfer student from a community college with a less-than-notable photography
program. Due to this particular, she
often felt behind the curve and as though she had much to prove; and prove
herself she did. Her dedication and
talent brought her considerable acclaim within the program, until she was
neck-and-neck with Raul Vargas.
<o:p></o:p>

Where
Harper’s focus was primarily directed towards honing her skills (the ability to
read and manipulate light proficiently, gaining a better working knowledge of
the necessary equipment, and creatively preparing for and producing impeccable
shoots), Raul’s central motivation was the business side of the profession
(namely, learning how photographers effectively market themselves to book
jobs). Where he excelled in his business
savvy, she outrivaled him in her innate ability to capture raw, emotionally
evoking images. However, in the end, it
had been Raul who achieved the more prestigious of careers.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ahhh…”
she sighed with a smug grin that spoke volumes, "It’s kinda refreshing meeting
someone who hasn’t heard of the legendary ‘Raul Vargas,’” She rolled the "R’s”
in his name to the point of absurdity.
<o:p></o:p>

"Yes. Well not everyone is as cultured as we.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Oh,
is that what it is? It’s a good thing
you aren’t very modest; otherwise, you would have a hard time convincing all of
your rich buyers how wonderful your work is!”
<o:p></o:p>

"Well,
it’s too bad you ARE so modest; otherwise, you could be wealthy beyond belief
like myself,” Raul snapped, in response to her jab.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ouch!”
Harper hesitated, attempting to select the perfect comeback, but having no
equal retort, responded with, "Well that’s why I keep prosperous friends like
you around, Raul. So I can reap the benefits
of your fortune and fame.” She paused, the
bite of his last words still stinging. "In
all seriousness, thank you again for letting me use your studio.”
<o:p></o:p>

"I
wouldn’t have it any other way, Harper.
You’re a great friend and a remarkable photographer. I just wish you would do something more than
the average portrait or event shoot.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Double
ouch!!! Jeez, Raul! Let up, will ya? I’m trying to make money! I can’t afford to wait around for a ‘big’
client or some unbelievable opportunity.
I’ve got bills to pay… A mortgage…”
<o:p></o:p>

"Alright!
Alright! I just meant that you’re
selling yourself short is all. I didn’t
mean…”
<o:p></o:p>

The
hum of the electricity pulsating throughout the studio grew silent, and instantly
the room was black as pitch. Raul’s last
word echoed in the still of the darkness, which suddenly felt like an endless
abyss. Harper felt disoriented and
clumsily felt around for something sturdy to grasp on to.
<o:p></o:p>

"Funny,”
she said, almost in a whisper, "I never realized there weren’t any windows in
here.”
<o:p></o:p>

Her
remark was answered with a thud, an "Ouch!” the slam of what sounded like a
wooden drawer, finally concluding with the clanging of something metal.
<o:p></o:p>

"Ah
ha! And God said, ‘Let there be light!’”
the familiar, marginally Latino infused voice called out from somewhere in the
distant dark.
<o:p></o:p>

And
then there was light… Harper blinked a
few times to regain her vision.
<o:p></o:p>

"I
was wondering if I’d ever put this thing to use,” Raul said, raising the stand to
the now glowing battery powered softbox.
"Who needs windows when you can create flawless natural lighting with
one of these babies?”
<o:p></o:p>

"I’m
just glad this didn’t happen while my client was here…” Harper paused. "Oh no, Raul!
When is your shoot with the President?”
Though genuinely concerned, a small part of her hoped to detect some
wrinkle of anxiety upon her friend’s typically unaffected brow.
<o:p></o:p>

"It
shouldn’t take long for the power company to fix. An hour tops... It doesn’t really matter. The shoot is at his home in Preston Hollow,” Said
Raul.
<o:p></o:p>

"No
dice,” she thought, "and the cosmos once again bows to his majesty, Raul Vargas.”

<o:p></o:p>

As
if to cue her departure, Raul’s cell phone rang. "Raul Vargas here,” he answered, waving a
desultory farewell to Harper. "Thanks
again Raul…” Harper said, collecting her
camera and various lenses. She packed
them neatly in their case, and checked the latches twice over, after fastening
them.
<o:p></o:p>

"What
do you mean canceled? The article will
go to print in three weeks, so I have to… Yes… I had no idea, but… Is this something we should be concerned
about?” he asked, tapping his foot
impatiently. "Alright, well please keep
me informed.”
<o:p></o:p>

He
hung up and, turning to face Harper, revealed a dreadfully puzzled
expression. This look was one that
Harper had never seen worn by her ordinarily over-confident companion and it
did not suit him well.
<o:p></o:p>

"What’s
the problem?” she asked, suddenly intrigued.
<o:p></o:p>

"That was the editor of Texas Monthly. Apparently, today’s shoot was called off. Something about a potential health threat and
the President’s ‘people’ needing to take extra precautions.”
<o:p></o:p>

"A health threat? Isn’t
it the job of the secret service to protect him?”
<o:p></o:p>

The baffled expression
on Raul’s face had not yet vanished.
<o:p></o:p>

"You’ve heard the news reports about the rise in hospital
admissions these past couple of days, right?”
<o:p></o:p>

Harper
nodded. She had heard about it briefly
on the radio just that morning, while driving to Raul’s studio for the shoot. According to the report, patients exhibiting
flu-like symptoms were flooding the hospitals.
<o:p></o:p>

"Well, from what I was just told, it’s alarming enough
that the President, or his ‘people,’ believes he should stay at his ranch in
Crawford until this whole thing blows over.”
<o:p></o:p>

Posted: 7/29/2014 12:53:01 AM EDT

[#7]

Chapter
2:
<o:p></o:p>

The
pawn shop never made much money, and was the least lucrative business of his father’s
empire. Beau had no doubt that his
inheritance of the place was intended as a cruel joke, but in order to get the
last laugh, Beau had made it his mission to keep its’ doors open and to live
comfortably off its earnings. So far, he
had done just that.
<o:p></o:p>

Along
with the inheritance of the shop, came Shep; its loyal employee of fifteen
years. Sergeant Tom Sheppard was a mid-forties
U.S. Army Gulf War veteran. He earned a
rank of E-6 and was honorably discharged after shrapnel, from an IED, severely
damaged his left temporal lobe. Shep had
left home an intelligent, gregarious, independent young man, with aspirations
of becoming the first in his family to attend college after his four years
enlistment. However, as fate would have
it, he returned home with an inability to comprehend spoken words and a difficulty recognizing familiar
faces and even the most ordinary of objects.
Instead of institutionalizing young Shep, to help with their son’s
recovery, his mother and father spent every last penny they had saved on speech
pathologists, physical therapists, neuropsychologists, psychiatrists, and a
list of other specialists. It took years
for even a marked sign of improvement. However,
these days, the only noticeable effects of the life-altering injury were a
slight stutter and short term memory loss; a recovery that Shep’s doctors deemed
miraculous.
<o:p></o:p>

"Morning Shep!” Beau said, juggling his travel mug, keys and
laptop computer. "Thanks for opening the
shop for me.”
<o:p></o:p>

"N-N-No problem boss! Where ya been?” Shep asked, teasingly tapping on a
non-existent wrist-watch.
<o:p></o:p>

"Overslept again.” Beau sighed, taking
a gulp of his, once again, luke-warm java.
"Any business this morning?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Yeah. Shane came in ‘bout an hour
ago. He wants you to come take a look at
a M-M-M… Mossberg he wants to sell.”
Shep answered, digging around in the shelves behind the counter.
<o:p></o:p>

"Alright, is that all? Any phone calls?” Shep continued his searching, appearing
oblivious to the sound of Beau’s voice. "Shep!
Did you hear me?” Still, no answer. "What
the hell are you looking for, man?”
<o:p></o:p>

"A
b-b-brass magnet.” Shep finally managed.
"I’m looking for a brass magnet.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Brass
magnet?” Beau’s jaw clenched with
anger. "Was this ‘brass magnet’ for
Shane?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Yeah
boss. He said you had one back here
somewhere. Said he couldn’t find his.”
<o:p></o:p>

"There’s
no such thing as brass magnet, Shep. Shane’s
just fooling with you again.”
<o:p></o:p>

Shep hung his head in embarrassment.
<o:p></o:p>

"Shep,
I’m going to have a look at that Mossberg of Shane’s. You mind running the show for a bit longer?”
<o:p></o:p>

"No
Boss. I’ll be f-f-fine.” Shep said,
giving the "Okay” sign with his enormous sausage-like fingers.
<o:p></o:p>

<o:p></o:p>

Shane
Moyer managed the run down auto repair place across the street from the pawn
shop and had given them a good deal of business over the years; both buying and
selling a miscellany of merchandise. Despite
this fact, Beau never cared for him much, particularly due to his incessant harassing
and belittling of Shep and anyone else who he considered an easy target. However, Beau typically excused Shane’s
behavior, believing that it resulted from his horrible upbringing.
<o:p></o:p>

As
is the case in most small towns, there is a tendency for its citizens to know
far too much about one another. It was
common knowledge that Shane’s father, Luke Moyer, was a raging alcoholic with a
propensity for gambling away his paychecks and hitting his wife and children. Mrs. Moyer was a known as a social recluse,
rumored to be a manic-depressive addicted to prescription-drugs. She committed suicide only a few years after
Shane and his older sister left their dysfunctional domestic dwelling.
<o:p></o:p>

Due
to these particulars, Beau had up to this point resisted knocking Shane’s teeth
in, but he was beginning to reconsider upon looking at the kind, unknowing face
of his longtime employee and friend. Shane had known Shep since childhood, having
gone to the same schools and played on the sports teams. Even worse, he knew
about Shep’s war-time injuries, which made his taunts all the more inexcusable;
screwed up family or not.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
now stood casually in front of the glass door of the repair shop, his eyes
trained on the cracking vinyl lettering which read, "Shane’s Auto Repair” in
large, balloon like font. It reminded
Beau of the "ZAP! BANG! BOOM!” typeface used in the comic books he read as a
child. Underneath the shop’s insignia
was a made to order notice that warned, "We reserve the right to refuse service
to anyone. Jackasses will not be
tolerated!” The archetypal red circle
with diagonal slash, typically warning that smoking is prohibited, instead
enclosed the cartoon drawing of a braying donkey.
<o:p></o:p>

"Jackasses
will not be tolerated, huh?” Beau said aloud, "Hypocrite.”
<o:p></o:p>

He
gave the grease smeared door handle a strong shove. A cowbell jingled violently as he stepped
through the entry, coming face to face with Shane’s first line of defense;
Horace, Shane’s devoted minion.
<o:p></o:p>

"Hey
Beau, what can I do ya for?” asked Horace, appearing a bit perplexed at Beau’s
forceful entrance.
<o:p></o:p>

"Looking
for Shane, Horace. Is he around?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Yeah,
he’s in his office playing with some shotgun.
Is that why you’re here?”
<o:p></o:p>

"That,
among other things.” Beau said.
<o:p></o:p>

"So,
did Shep find that brass magnet?” He hooted
with laughter for a moment and then considered Beau’s expression. It was clear that Beau was heated about the
little prank. He nervously cleared his
throat. "You can go on back there,
Beau.” Beau nodded and turned the corner
toward the dimly lit, smoke filled room that Shane called his office.
<o:p></o:p>

He
was sitting on the edge of his chair, intently reading the new monthly issue of
"Car Craft” magazine. A thin column of white smoke trailed from a Pall Mall
cigarette pinched between his grimy index and forefinger. Beau stood silent in the door way, both hands
tucked firmly into his pockets, waiting for some degree of acknowledgement from
Shane. Finally, he gave in.
<o:p></o:p>

"Did
you want me to look at a gun, Shane?” Beau said flatly.
<o:p></o:p>

"Hey
Beau! Yeah, she’s right here,” Shane said as he spun around in the pleather
office chair. He retrieved a very
short-barreled shotgun propped in the corner next to an overflowing filing
cabinet.
<o:p></o:p>

"Here
it is. So tell me, what do ya think?” he
said, passing the shotgun to Beau.
<o:p></o:p>

He
did not accept it; his hands, for once, preferring the comfort of his pockets
over the familiar feel of stock and barrel.
<o:p></o:p>

"Well,
grab the damned thing man. That’s why
you’re here, ain’t it?” Shane took a
long last drag off his Pall Mall, then grouchily stamped it out into one of the
many ashtrays that littered his desk.
<o:p></o:p>

"That
shotgun you have there, where did you get it?”
<o:p></o:p>

"Don’t
matter where I got it from Beau. You interested or not? One-fifty, and it’s
yours.”
<o:p></o:p>

"Shane,
there’s no way in hell that I’m buying that gun from you. It’s sawed off… It’s not even legal. If I were you, I would
give it back to whoever you got it from, or disassemble it and dispose of that
barrel.”
<o:p></o:p>

Shane
paused quizzically. "Nah man! This thing’s bad ass!” he said, as he racked the
slide and held the Mossberg in a theatrical gangster pose.
<o:p></o:p>

"Have
at it Shane,” Beau said cynically. "Just
don’t get caught with it…
<o:p></o:p>

"What
the hell crawled up your ass man?” Shane scoffed. "Oh… I guess you’re pissed off about our
little prank on Shep… Did he ever find
that brass magnet?” He laughed
haughtily, expecting Beau to join him in his warped sense of merriment.
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
felt his face flush and ears begin to burn; a trait he had inherited from his
Scotch-Irish, absentee mother. About to officially
lose his cool, Beau took a long deep breath. He began to reply before the completion of his
exhale, which made his voice waver a bit. "Shane,” Beau stared deeply into
Shane’s small, shifty eyes, daring him, almost provoking him, to speak out of
turn, "You know why Shep is the way he is. You also know that twenty years ago
he would have you wrapped up like a pretzel for making him the butt of one of
your twisted pranks… I’d put money on it
that he could do it today if he understood your intention was to make him look
stupid. Catch my drift?” His fists were now balled; only waiting for a
cue to be released from the confines of the denim pockets they were tucked
into.
<o:p></o:p>

Shane
shifted nervously in his chair, which squeaked noisily with his movement. It became quite clear to Beau that the
proverbial "drift” had been caught.
However, his prideful, "No-one-tells-me-what-to-do” attitude got the
better of him. His already squinty eyes
narrowed into even tinier slits, "Me and the boys here won’t tease the retard
anymore, but Beau, you won’t be getting any more of our business; seein’ as how
it ain’t appreciated.”
<o:p></o:p>

Beau
glared back at the pudgy-faced, balding headed Shane Moyer and, using every
ounce of self-control in his being, managed the words, "Fair enough.”
<o:p></o:p>

Posted: 7/29/2014 9:03:05 PM EDT

[#8]

Quote History

Quoted:
Thats just because of the format in Word. There is nothing I can do about that short of manually deleting it from ARF.

View Quote View All Quotes

View All Quotes

Quote History

Quoted:

Quoted:
Good story so far. One bit of criticism. Please remove all the <o:p></o:p> from the body of the story. It will make it so much easier to read.

Thats just because of the format in Word. There is nothing I can do about that short of manually deleting it from ARF.

Tag to read still. Saw your post in GD.

About the formatting, since the HTML is simple here and most forums, just select-all and copy the text from the Word document and paste it into a text file (notepad.exe.) You can then copy/paste from it, centering the chapter heading in each post by placing it in-between the "center" tags, which appears as the center-justified paragraph icon in Post Reply editor.

Edit: Maybe... I just copied from a Word file to editor and it pasted like plain text would. Not sure in your case. I can edit them out for you though.

Posted: 7/29/2014 9:54:18 PM EDT

[#9]

I will try what you recommended when/if I post the next chapter. I appreciate the help.

Posted: 7/30/2014 8:02:42 PM EDT

[#10]

I just had time to read the chapters you posted, and I must say, please give us more! Good storyline to build on and great character development. Also, excellent grammar.

I copy/pasted your posts into an advanced text editor (Notepad++) and used the Find/Replace function to remove all the formatting characters. I enclosed the chapter headings in the center tags as well. I did notice that the acute accent HTML code used in cliché and protégé did not get decoded by forum software, but it takes care of encoding automatically is not necessary with modern browsers.

I saved all this in a text file that I can email to you or IM in parts. The Notepad++ text editor is free if you would like to try, hopefully for future chapters!

Edit: technicals after viewing source code.

Posted: 7/30/2014 8:39:49 PM EDT

[#11]

Quote History

Quoted:

I just had time to read the chapters you posted, and I must say, please give us more! Good storyline to build on and great character development. Also, excellent grammar.

I copy/pasted your posts into an advanced text editor (Notepad++) and used the Find/Replace function to remove all the formatting characters. I enclosed the chapter headings in the center tags as well. I did notice that the acute accent HTML code used in cliché and protégé did not get decoded by forum software, but it takes care of encoding automatically is not necessary with modern browsers.

I saved all this in a text file that I can email to you or IM in parts. The Notepad++ text editor is free if you would like to try, hopefully for future chapters!

Edit: technicals after viewing source code.

View Quote

Thanks for the help with that. I do already have notepad++ and will give it a shot when I am ready to throw up the next chapter. So far yours is the only feedback, so if there isnt any interest here I may just abandon it on here and put the rest up on Amazon.

Posted: 7/30/2014 9:48:52 PM EDT

[#12]

I vote to keep it up! You have a good thing going. I may not have found it if you had not posted in GD.

I see in my text you quoted, the HTML code for acute accent is showing up again. I tested and cannot repeat in my older FireFox version 12 browser. What are you using?

You have interest here, I hope others speak up!

Posted: 7/30/2014 9:57:38 PM EDT

[#13]

Quote History

Quoted:

I vote to keep it up! You have a good thing going. I may not have found it if you had not posted in GD.

I see in my text you quoted, the HTML code for acute accent is showing up again. I tested and cannot repeat in my older FireFox version 12 browser. What are you using?

You have interest here, I hope others speak up!

View Quote

The book was written in Word. I originally copy and pasted it into the standard ARF editor and it came out non spaced, so I switched over to the WSRG or whatever its called to copy and paste. I will go ahead and post up a couple more pages just for you. lol

Posted: 7/30/2014 10:01:33 PM EDT

[#14]

Beau’s
face and ears still burned red as he opened the door to the pawn shop.

"You
alright boss?” Shep asked.

Shep
may have been slower than most in many facets of life, but he had a keen sense
when it came to reading human emotion.

"I’m
just fine Shep.” Beau said, managing a
quick half-smile.

"R-R-Really? You seem kinda h-h-hacked?” His stutter was always at its worst when he
was nervous or felt tension.

"I
guess I am, Shep. Shane wasted a fair
portion of my time showing me some piece of shit sawed off shotgun that I can’t
buy.” Beau said, offering a half-truth
to his mammoth-sized friend. He knew
that telling Shep about their discussion surrounding the prank would only humiliate
him more. "He’s decided not to do
business with us anymore.”

Shep
stared back with an expression of utter puzzlement. "Is that a bad thing boss? I mean, is it so bad that we are losing
Sh-Sh-Shane’s business? He’s not a very
nice fella.”

Beau
chuckled. "No… You’re right Shep. I
suppose there’s nothing bad about that at all. That bigoted, backwoods, moron
won’t be walking through our doors again, and I have to say, I don’t mind that
a bit.” Beau shook his head in wonder,
"That’s what I like about you, Shep. You
always see the brighter side of things.”

A
smile widened across Shep’s face. "Good
riddance, Shane Moyer!” he said. The two
shared a satisfying laugh about the episode before getting back to their
respective pawn shop responsibilities.

A
few minutes later, Beau hollered toward the store room. "Hey, Shep! Did you ever get a chance to eat
lunch?” A burly sounding, but muffled,
voice answered back, but incomprehensibly.
"What’d you say?” Beau asked.
Shep suddenly emerged with a towering stack of various name brand DVD
players in his arms that were in need of pricing. "Nah, I’m not all that hungry,” he said,
turning to go back to his task.

Shep
was without doubt a creature of habit and rarely, if ever, missed his twelve to
twelve-thirty lunch-break, unless, of course the store was too busy with
customers. The truth was, he hadn’t
really felt quite like himself that day; as if some impending trouble was on
the horizon. At any rate, this gnawing
feeling was undoubtedly disrupting his normal routine and suppressing any
appetite he may have otherwise had.

"I
hope you aren’t coming down with that weird flu everyone keeps talking about. The News says it’s pretty nasty stuff.” Beau
said as he raised a concerned eyebrow.

"N-n-nope. I’m not sick.
I guess I probably should heat up some lunch, if that’s a-a-alright with
you, boss?” Shep conceded; so as not to worry Beau.

"Go
eat Shep.” Beau said with a smile, motioning to the back storage room; the place
Shep called home.

Posted: 7/30/2014 10:04:21 PM EDT

[#15]

Shep didn’t care much for being
anyone’s ward, so, rather than living at home with his parents, he slept on a
bunk in the storage room of the pawn shop.
He even insisted on paying Beau rent for his living quarters. He had all the necessary items there; microwave,
mini-fridge, TV, reading material, etcetera; even a bathroom with a shower,
which Beau plumbed in shortly after Shep had taken up residency. He did not need much, nor did he want for
anything other than the friendship of others. He loved people, and was trusting almost to a
fault; despite his wartime past.

Shep
was what most Southerners would refer to as a "good ol’ boy,” which to those
that do not understand the term means that he possessed certain "salt-of-the-earth”
qualities paired with a handyman’s abilities and an outdoorsman’s proficiencies.
If a person wasn’t won over by his kindhearted, reliable, and trustworthy
nature, Shep’s carpentry work, hunting skills and ability to fix nearly
anything mechanical usually sealed the deal.

Shep
disappeared into the dimly illuminated rear of the store, tripping over a heap
of old broken power tools that littered his path. He would get to them that evening, he promised
himself. After all, he was the one that talked Beau into buying them from an
out of work contractor. He shook his
head in disappointment with himself as he maneuvered his way through the
clutter to his mini-fridge, tucked into a corner at the head of his bed. A faded price tag, at least a decade old,
marked "Sale! $49.99” was still affixed to its front. To complete his miniscule kitchenette, a
small microwave sat atop the mini-fridge, and on top of that, an assortment of
paper plates and plasticware.

Shep
produced a large folding knife clipped to the rear left pocket of his jeans and
flicked the dull-gray blade open with a resounding snick. He plunged the blade through the top of the "Lite Cuisine”
box and, with any luck, through the cellophane wrap, opened the door to the
microwave and slung the frozen meal (box and all) inside. He set the timer for seven minutes and was in
the process of pushing the "Start” button, when the power went out.

"I
knew it!” Shep said to himself. Though
he hated to admit it, his bizarre inklings usually proved to be accurate. But, a power outage? Could this be the looming disaster that he
had been sensing all day? Could
something as benign as a power outage cause this intense feeling of anxiety he
was experiencing? "No… There’s something more.”

Posted: 7/31/2014 8:27:33 AM EDT

[#16]

Hi Gunnut,

Please do continue your story. I will try not to clutter up your thread with comments, but I am reading every chunk you post.

Thanks for your effort,

Tony

Posted: 7/31/2014 8:27:34 PM EDT

[#17]

Nice story, Shep is a great character, keep it coming!

Posted: 7/31/2014 8:47:59 PM EDT

[#18]

I really appreciate the comments...Actually I look forward to them. Its been 3 years since I have written, so its taking me a bit to get back into it.

Please dont feel like you are cluttering up the pages. Keep the comments rolling in. It seems to keep me motivated with this project.

On a side note. Apparently the remaining version that I have is half the size it was, which means I have to re-write alot of the story. I guess thats both bad and good.....Only time will tell.

Posted: 7/31/2014 8:53:30 PM EDT

[#19]

....

The
smell of hot asphalt and exhaust fumes filled Harper’s nose; a not so pleasant
reminder of the one hundred plus degree heat wave Texas was suffering during
those last two weeks of that infamous July. Harper carefully assisted her rolling camera
case over the parking lot’s curb, while her free hand searched her satin-lined
leather handbag; fingertips stumbling blindly over a hairbrush, loose change,
and crumpled receipts until finally grasping her keys. A 1975 Ford Bronco was parked humbly amongst
the Mercedes, BMWs and other luxury cars.
Normally, such material things made no difference to her, but this particular
afternoon, seeing the old 4x4, slightly wounded her pride. "You’re being ridiculous.” she scolded
herself, suddenly very aware of the many aspects of her life that she should,
without doubt, be tremendously grateful for.

She
thought of how Beau had painfully restored the junkyard find to its original
condition just a year ago. He nicknamed
the old beast El Jefe (Spanish for "The Boss”), because it constantly demanded
so much of his time and, often, backbreaking labor. When Harper would ask why he wouldn’t just
sell it for all the trouble it gave him, Beau would remind her of its
potential, and the many attributes the Bronco would possess once complete; i.e.
its ability to haul their dogs, lumber, groceries, tools, etcetera, while
simultaneously navigating the pitted, often muddy, farm to market roads that
stretched across much of their small town.
In the end, Beau was right. El
Jefe suited their lifestyle perfectly.
Although, where Beau valued the old 4x4 for utilitarian purposes, Harper
came to treasure it for its removable top and new fire-engine red paint job (a
color Harper had insisted on). The beast
had become a beauty.

Harper,
again, regarded the lavish cars that smugly sandwiched the modest El Jefe. "Harper,
you have everything you need in life to live happily and comfortably. You don’t need
any of this,” she thought; and she meant it.

"Harper! Wait!” called out Raul, hurrying towards her.

She spun to face
him. "Raul, what’s…”

"Can you give me ride to Parkland Hospital? It’s Cara…”

"Of course. What happened?”

"Her sister just called…” He paused for a moment to
regain his composure, before continuing.
He was clearly panic stricken. "Cara was admitted early this
morning. She had been vomiting all night
and was acting extremely violent this morning. She wouldn’t let anyone come close enough to
her to help. Her sister called 911, but
instead of an ambulance showing up, it was a bunch of guys in hazmat suits and
an armored truck. They sedated Cara and
told her sister they were taking her to Parkland. Cara’s family has been there all morning, but
they haven’t given them any word on her condition. They won’t let them see her or even tell them
what room she’s in. Thats when the call dropped.” Raul swallowed
hard. "This is my fault… We got in an argument last night. She wanted to go to a dinner party with
friends. I knew we would end up staying
out late, so I said I didn’t want to go…” He pushed the wavy black hair back
from his forehead with his palm and held it firmly there. "I was worried about being too tired or
hung–over for the President’s shoot.”

Harper placed a caring hand on his shoulder, only to have
the gesture shirked.

"No! It’s
absolutely my fault! She said I always
choose work over her, and she’s right!
She went without me. Who knows
what happened to her. She was probably
drugged by some psycho,” Raul shuddered, "or God knows what else.” Raul’s eyes were welling with tears and his
brow now wrinkled with worry and grief.

Harper
threw her arms around his neck, this time not giving him the opportunity to
stonewall her compassionate embrace. "I’m so sorry Raul. Let me call Beau and tell him that I’m going
to be late.”

Posted: 8/2/2014 2:58:47 PM EDT

[#20]

Great story so far. Good job with spelling and grammar also.

Please keep it coming.

Posted: 8/4/2014 10:05:16 PM EDT

[#21]

Chapter
3:

Shep swallowed hard, as he searched beneath his mattress
for a flashlight, but Beau beat him to it.

"You alright back here?” Beau asked, shining the penetrating
white light of his LED Surefire flashlight onto his visibly shaken comrade. "I didn’t know you were scared of the dark!”
Beau said laughingly, making his way to the circuit breaker box, opposite of
where Shep still stood hunched over his bed; hands still searching for a torch
of his own. Beau flipped the breaker,
but to no avail. "Well, I guess it’s an
outage,” he said, once again shining the brilliant beam of light onto Shep. "You Okay?
Looks like you just saw a ghost.”

"I’m f-f-f-f,” he paused for a brief moment to gain
control of his stammer. "I’m fine, other
than the fact that you’re blinding me with that d-d-damn thing!” Shep rose, now
clutching an old oversized Maglite. He
mashed the rubber enclosed power button with his bulbous thumb and proceeded to
tauntingly shine its beam into Beau’s eyes, which were now squinted. "Alright!” Beau laughed, "Cut it out! Let’s find out what the problem is.”

The two made their way to the store front, to peer out of
the window for some sign of cause for the outage. Nothing appeared abnormal on that sunny July mid-afternoon,
other than the fact that the businesses, like EZ 4U Pawn, were now solely
illuminated by the blazing rays of the Texas sun.

Shep
already had several candles lit in the back stock room by the time Beau located
some LED lanterns amidst the hodgepodge of electronics in the store. Beau checked his cell phone. 2:20pm. He didn’t yet know how significant this number was.

"Good show Shep”

"I have some candles in
my room boss. Want those too?”

"Nah, that’s ok, let’s
just work on getting the doors locked until the power comes back on. See if you
can locate a few more flashlights and batteries so we can see what the hell we
are doing if this power isn’t restored soon.”

In the middle of July in East Texas, it doesn’t take long
to realize the benefit of, or lack thereof, an air-conditioner. Both Beau and
Shep felt the air stagnating in the sealed storefront, and was growing thick
with humidity. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on their foreheads as they
were re-stocking shelves. Soon a deep
orange-red ambient light shown through the windows; It had been over 4 hours
since the power went out…..commercial power, which is usually the first to be
repaired in the event of an outage.

Beau checked his cell phone. 6:32pm. "I haven’t heard
from Harper yet. Power must still be on wherever she’s at,” he said to
himself. He scrolled through his
contacts, selected Harper’s name from the list, and pressed "send.” The phone was silent for a good twenty
seconds, beeped, and then displayed "call lost”. Beau hit "re-dial”, and was
provided with a new message that read "no signal”. "Piece of shit” he said to
himself under his breath as he put the offending "smart phone” back into his
pocket. His eyes shifted to the office
phone situated on the counter space and felt an ever-so-slight shot of
adrenaline shoot through his body as he hastily navigated his way towards it. His "paranoid little mind” (as his mother
always told him) was always thinking the worst about situations like this; he
hoped Harper hadn’t tried to call. To
his relief, Beau was greeted with a dial-tone when he lifted the land-line
handset. It took him just a few seconds’
pause to remember Harper’s cell number. Before Beau was able to punch in all
ten digits, he was accosted with a fast busy signal. He hung up and redialed the number again, and
again was met with the same fast-busy tone.

"Shep!”
Beau yelled.

"Yeah
boss?” Shep’s reply was startling as it seemed to echo around the now-silent
store front.

"Your
cell phone, is it AT&T?”

"Umm, n-n-n-no boss,
it’s that pre-paid service I got at W-w-wal-Mart. I think its Verizon or
Sprint…..I don’t remember, but I know it’s not AT&T c-cause they don’t have
a pre-paid phone at the Wal-Mart I go to.”

"Good, can I use it?”

"Yeah boss, every-th-thing ok?”

Beau let out an artificial chortle "yeah
Shep, relax, all is well. I just want to call the power company and see what
the hold-up is….need to call Harper too, make sure she isn’t stranded
somewhere….you know, she’s driving ‘El Jefe’ today and my phone isn’t getting
any reception.” Shep reached in the front pocket of his overalls and produced a
small flip-phone.

"I don’t have many
minutes on my plan boss….just have it for emergencies and what-n-n-ot.”

"I know Shep. I’ll buy
you some more minutes tomorrow, or give you the cash so you can.”

"No, it’s ok boss,
don’t wor…. Shep was cut short when Beau simultaneously dialed Harpers number
and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it on the counter in
front of Shep. As he waited for his call to connect, he watched as Shep walked
away and began reconciling the cash register, leaving the twenty on the counter
untouched. Beau’s stomach sank as he
received the same message on Shep’s phone as he had received on his own…….”no
service.” "Watch the shop Shep, I’ll be
right back” Beau said as he struggled with the steel burglar bars at the front
door. "Lock it behind me; I shouldn’t be too long. I’m going to the cleaners
next door to see if their phone is working.”

"No
problem boss” he replied. Shep was already forming a plan of action in his
head. He knew that land-line and cell phones are rarely, if ever affected in
such instances. Shep knew what people were capable of in extreme circumstances,
and he had seen this type of thing before during some of his deployments in the
military. This was America though.
Surely this is nothing like South Africa or Kuwait; civil unrest, which
ultimately led to other, more atrocious things. People were more civilized
here, weren’t they? He also knew what
the United States government was capable of, and he had his doubts that this
was a "normal” power outage. Shep peered
solemnly through the front window, momentarily mesmerized at how many stars he
could see. It reminded him of his first
night in Kuwait, captivated by the huge expanse of wide open sky with literally
billions of shimmering stars. He had never seen such a sight in the states,
perhaps due to the huge power demand of American consumers.

Shep
watched as Beau began to head back to the pawn shop. He noticed Beau’s eyes
were looking at the ground, then at his watch and he could see the building
frustration in his furrowed brow. Shep unlocked the front door and pushed it
open for Beau.

"Phone’s
out huh boss”

"Yeah,
it is. The Chan’s said their cell phones aren’t working either. They have
Sprint, and all three have smartphones that aren’t so smart any longer. That’s
three of the largest cell carriers that are out of service.” Wearing a defeated
look, Beau looked at Shep and asked, "Do you have any idea what this is? I’ve
heard you talk about military equipment….jammers or something like that. I just got to thinking about…” Beau paused
and looked at his feet. "What if this
has something to do with that flu outbreak?”

Shep’s
eyes widened a bit at the similarity of their hypothesis, and he began…slowly.
"W-w-w-well, Im just an 11 bravo ground pounder, but I did know a warrant
officer that had mentioned in p-p-passing something about cell phone
ja-ja-ja-jammers used in Iraq so the b-bad guys couldn’t use their remote det
devices. Seem to recall th-th-they only
worked for three or four miles.” Shep took a deep breath. No matter how hard he
tried, or how prepared the sentences were in his head, they just came out
jumbled, his stammer only revealing its ugly face when he was nervous or in a
hurry. He counted to ten silently in his head and began again. "Boss, it really
don’t matter much; land-lines are d-down too.
Can’t jam them so far as I know; reckon they took em down.”

"Who is they, and why would it be taken down?” Beau exclaimed.

"They is the United States government,
and the why, well, don’t rightly know
r-r-r-right now do we? I guess it might have something to do with that f-f-flu
bug going around.”

Beau
stood there, pondering the Shep’s implications, knowing he had thought the same
thing just a few minutes earlier. He didn’t want to believe it; he didn’t want
to even consider it, but the M.O. (modus operandi) was there. If there was an epidemic, or god-forbid a
pandemic, civilian communications and transportation would be the first to go.
Communications would be knocked out so panic wouldn’t spread, and
transportation ceased so the bug wouldn’t spread. It made sense, but seemed extremely
pre-mature to make such an assumption. Regardless, the mounting anxiety
compelled Beau to seek out his wife.

"Shep,
can you hunt down a couple of walkies for us?
I’m going to go ahead and call it a day.
I need to make sure Harper is ok.”

"Boss,
I think we need a p-p-p-plan in case the shit hits the f-f-fan. I mean this
shop is full of stuff that people would want, especially those gennys’ over there.”
Shep cast his hand in the general direction of aisle three, where used and
abused gen-sets lined the bottom row.

Beau’s
eyes lit up, "daaammnn, your right Shep, we could use those. Do we have any gas
cans, preferably with gas in them?”

"You
know we do boss. There are some in the cage outside. Probably 20 or so, none of
em full though, and most of it is old.”

Most
of the time when people would pawn their gas powered tools, they would leave
the gas can with the pawn shop. There was no reason to keep the unused fuel if
they no longer had any anything to put it in. That, or they were too lazy to
put the gas in their own cars.

"That’s
alright Shep; can you consolidate them and bring them inside for me?

"Umm
sure thing boss, I’ll put them in the b-b-back.”

"Oh,
and did you find those flashlights? I’ve got to walk home in the dark… No streetlights to light my path tonight,”
Beau said chuckling.

"Over
on the counter, t-t-take your pick. There’s a few Streamlights, few Surefires,
some Mag-lites and batteries.”

Beau
opted for one of the big four cell Mag-lite’s, and clipped his smaller Surefire
tactical light into his left front pocket as a backup. He still wore his Glock
19 9 millimeter pistol riding in the small of his back in a custom stitched
leather holster. It was undetectable as long as he wore his shirt un-tucked,
which is exactly how he always wore it, with the sole exception working at the
pawn shop. He wanted it to be seen in
order to help deter some of his shadier clientele.

Posted: 8/5/2014 7:05:58 PM EDT

[#22]

Just had the opportunity to catch up, suspense is building! Great writing, keep it up.

Posted: 8/7/2014 8:57:12 AM EDT

[#23]

Very good read so far OP!

Posted: 8/18/2014 4:38:05 AM EDT

[#24]

Looking forward to more.

Posted: 8/18/2014 12:41:35 PM EDT

[#25]

I am on vacation for the next week, but will bring my notebook to jot down some notes. Hopefully I will have a few more pages up by the end of the week. Thank you all for the support.

Posted: 8/19/2014 3:46:18 PM EDT

[#26]

Good stuff so far!

Posted: 8/19/2014 5:59:18 PM EDT

[#27]

Quote History

Quoted:
I am on vacation for the next week, but will bring my notebook to jot down some notes. Hopefully I will have a few more pages up by the end of the week. Thank you all for the support.

View Quote

Sweet! Looking forward to more as well.

[ARCHIVED THREAD] - The Chosen (Updated 8-4)

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