Woo! Long weekend! Made even better because my sister is coming up for the weekend, there are new galleries at the Telus World of Science opening today that need to be checked out, and a crafty day with friends planned for Sunday (hopefully I'm going to learn how to knit caps, and my oldest is determined to teach a family friend how to knit). My hubby is back working again as well, so groceries and mortgage are under less threat of becoming a choice between the two.
Writing news: not much. I'm writing, subjecting my tolerant hubby to reading through my first draft of a newly completed novel so I have someone to talk to about it, and stopping by at local bookstores around Edmonton to see if anyone might be interested in carrying paper copies of my books. (High hopes and low expectations, but not asking gets a 100% fail rate for putting books on shelves. I think asking gets that down to 98% not likely... kidding! It's maybe a 50/50 by asking.)
Enjoy the long weekend!
1. An Unlikely Survivor
He waded through the mud in his consciousness. What had happened? He’d been flying... following the river... the Flight Commander had said turn back, too hot... the Ground Commander had said go in... passenger bird and right gunship had turned back but the smoke was popped and the extraction was a sitting duck... two – three? No, only two – people running... only one extra person on the bird... heavy fire... the bird started to fall...
“Just get me across the river!” she yelled.
“We’re going down too fast!” he answered between mayday calls.
“DO IT, FLYBOY!” she ordered.
He forced the bird to limp... the river came up too fast... the far bank didn’t get close enough... something hit him in the back – the front? – and then the controls became part of his helmet... there was water and smoke in the bird when the weight lifted off him... she looked surprised when he sat up...
“We gotta go. Right now,” she said.
“The crew –” he turned and saw them. What was left of them.
They grabbed the tags and ammo and any rations... his head hurt... where was his helmet? His face was bleeding...
“Go! Now!” She pushed him out of the bird and towards the bank.
He carried two packs... the water was cool... the sun was hot... the trees on the bank promised shade... he was knocked to the ground between the roots and something exploded behind him... she was pulling him along as they ran... his head hurt...
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape settled beside him close enough that he could hear it breathing. It stopped moving as the breeze stilled. It looked at him and motioned for him to be silent. His head hurt. A bright light flashed in both his eyes and seared his retinas into the back of his skull.
“It’s a good thing you’re small, Flyboy,” she said.
A wind started up again and the shape lifted him onto its shoulders.
He opened his eyes and saw darkness. A shape was sitting, hunched by his feet, and peering through a slit out to something that looked too bright to exist. He moved carefully and the shape turned to look at him.
“You did good,” she said.
His thoughts felt swollen, the throbbing in his head worse each time he turned it to look around. She crawled up beside him – the ceiling was too close to stand – and pulled something out of the bag closest to him.
“This will probably be uncomfortable,” she said.
She held his head steady with one hand, holding his eyes open one at a time as she shone a miniature sun into his pupils to check his reaction times. It was more than uncomfortable.
“Better than eight hours ago,” she said, and then she smiled at him. “You may just live through this,” she said.
“Oh. Good,” he croaked.
She chuckled. He covered his eyes with his hand, trying not to put any pressure on his head as he did. He listened to her moving quietly as she stayed sitting beside him. She pressed a soft tube into the hand that wasn’t covering his eyes.
“Eat this,” she said.
Why are Authors crazy? I can't answer that, but I can provide bits of my own thoughts so that you can piece together why I may be.