Friday, January 29, 2010

A "Proper Post"... or so they say...

You thought you were going to read about politics, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint. But I really, really don't feel like commenting on 70 minutes of propaganda... er, I mean, the State of the Union address. I was actually going to do a post on socialism and ambition, but I got bored with it. Therefore, something "novel" is on the way.

And yes, that means novel in all senses of the word. I hope.

Recently I entered a novel-writing competition for homeschoolers. (I'll post an update on that when I have an update to post.) To those of you who know me: yes, I'm finally letting my work see the light of day beyond the Jabberings blog.

Anyhow, I thought I'd post a wee bit of one of the books I submitted. This is not a repeat of any Jabberings post... this is entirely new material, people. So enjoy... if you dare. =P

I posted it from MS Word in Courier... not sure how well that's going to work out... somebody tell me if it's goofy.

As far as the storyline goes, suffice it to say that an assassin (Luke) has just been caught by the U.S. government because he was trying to pick off a reporter. When he was being interrogated, he injected himself with a chemical that knocked him out for a few days and... you'll see. Marie is Luke's boss.

If you know anything about car chases, please tell me. I'm not really sure that I captured the feeling of the car chase in this scene very well.

Anyway, moving on...


Luke woke up in the prison morgue the day after he had injected himself. There were bright lights shining on him and people were murmuring next to him. He realized that he was on the autopsy table. He opened his eyes quickly and sat up with a ramrod-stiff back for shock effect. The coroner, doctors, and nurses stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Where are my clothes?” he asked, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. A nurse fainted, and one of the doctors handed him his clothes with shaking hands. Luke took them and got dressed quickly.

“Now if you wouldn’t mind opening the doors I’d be much obliged,” he continued. None of the doctors moved. Then the coroner shook his head.

“You’re still a prisoner,” he quavered.

“Not exactly. I was clinically dead, you know, so technically I’m no longer a prisoner,” Luke returned, and shouldered his way to the doors. The doctors half-heartedly tried to stop him, but it was no use. He got to the doors and found that they were locked. The doctors were buoyed by this and tried to stop him again, more vehemently, but he had the T-119 out in an instant and he burned out the lock on the doors with it. A doctor reached for the lock, but his hand was blistered by the residual acid and he jumped away, clutching his hand. Luke went through and, on a sardonic whim, waved goodbye to the autopsy room.

Upon exiting, he was confronted by a guard, whom he injected with E-37 and relieved of his weapons and uniform. Luke went out quickly, garbed in police officer gear, and got out of the gate to a well-armored police car that happened to be idling outside. He drove away in it, and none of the other officers seemed to notice.

He didn’t bother to look in the rearview mirror until he was well away from the prison. When he did, he noticed that he was not alone. Another prisoner was sitting in the back. He looked haggard, and there were circles under his eyes.

“What’re you in for?” Luke asked.

“Assault on a federal employee. I didn’t want the bugs in my house and told the installer so a little more forcibly than he liked, I guess. I didn’t hit him that hard—”

“I see. Where are you supposed to be going?”

The prisoner cocked his head and eyed Luke suspiciously

“You’re the escort. You’re supposed to know that, not me,” he frowned. Luke shrugged.

“Guess I don’t. By the way, I’m not exactly an escort. Think of me more as a… as a guardian angel. Maybe demon would be more accurate. I’m not going to take you to another prison. I just got out of that one. I’m not going anywhere near any others,” he said. The prisoner nodded pensively.

“So can you get me out of these handcuffs?” he asked abruptly.

“Sure.” Luke handed him the handcuff keys, and he proceeded to unlock the handcuffs. At that moment Luke happened to look in the rearview mirror again.

“Looks like we’ve got a little company,” he quipped. The prisoner twisted around in his seat, and his face fell.

“They want you to pull over,” he groaned. Luke glared at him in the rearview mirror.

“Do you mind telling me something I don’t know? Buckle up. I’m going to see just how well this thing can go. They picked a fight with the wrong person,” he growled. He contacted Marie through his implant then.

“Can you possibly remote pilot my helicopter to my location? I’m in a bit of a bind and I think it would come in handy,” he declared. Marie was silent for a moment.

“It’s on its way,” she replied at length, and hung up. The prisoner looked at Luke from the backseat.

“Are you crazy, mister? There’s no way anybody can pilot anything to you now. Airspace is completely restricted. No civilian aircraft,” he frowned.

“My stuff isn’t quite civilian,” Luke responded cryptically. “Hang on.”

He said it so conversationally that the prisoner didn’t catch on right away and got thrown against the back of the seat. He clung to the door for dear life. Luke sped around a corner, tires squealing. He had the gas pedal floored. The speedometer climbed higher and higher. On a straight stretch, it got up to 150 miles per hour. A fierce grin crossed Luke’s face. He was going fast and loving it.

“I should’ve been a racecar driver,” he muttered. The prisoner, on the other hand, was hugging the bars and the door alternately.

“Can’t you slow down?” he moaned.

“Not unless you want to get caught,” Luke retorted, and threw the car into a tight curve. He saw city traffic up ahead.

“Looks like we’re going a different route,” he remarked. The prisoner’s eyebrows arched, and he closed his eyes and clutched the door tighter. Luke drove up over the median into the oncoming traffic lanes.

“What are you doing?! Are you trying to get us both killed?” the prisoner screeched. Luke turned on the siren and lights and wove back and forth between the honking cars.

“Don’t worry. I’ve done this before.” The prisoner leaned back in his seat, white-faced.

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing,” he whispered breathlessly.

“Oh yeah, I do,” Luke chuckled, and drove the wrong way through a tollbooth. The toll collector yelled at him and shook her fist. Luke only grinned at her and kept going. The tollbooth strained out several of the pursuing cars, so only three were left in the chase.

Then four police motorcycles pulled out in front of Luke, who cursed at them and veered sharply to avoid them. They stayed in front of him, however, forcing him to slow down. He hissed with frustration and slammed his fist into the steering wheel, blasting the horn and startling the police officers. They swerved slightly, which gave Luke just enough time to gun the motor and ram into the back two. They went down on either side of the car, forcing the pursuit cars to slam on their brakes. The other two sped up, but then dropped back beside Luke’s car. They pulled out their guns. Luke ducked and yelled at the prisoner to do the same.

“Your helicopter is waiting at the end of 17th street,” Marie said over Luke’s implant.

“13th… 14th… 15th… 16th…” Luke counted under his breath.

“17th!” he shouted, and spun into the street. The prisoner started saying his rosary. Cars came left and right, honking at Luke and causing massive pileups. Luke raced to the end of the street and leaped out of the car. He had the presence of mind to open the prisoner’s door, and the prisoner jumped out and ran. The helicopter’s shields deactivated just long enough for Luke and the prisoner to get in. The prisoner gawked at it for a nanosecond, but Luke screamed at him to get in, which he did with no further discussion. Luke closed all the doors and started the rotors.

“Come on, come on, come on!” he grumbled. The rotors started turning, and the helicopter lifted off. A police car rocketed by just underneath it as it lifted off, and the car crashed into a building. Luke powered up all the helicopter’s shields so he could go undetected and flew away toward Sigma.

A few minutes into the flight, he got a direction from Marie to go to Camden.

“I think you might find something of interest at 1253 Ravenswood Lane. Be prepared to confront somebody you’ve been chasing. Call Edgar Lockhart at (609) 353-1228. He should be able to tell you what’s going on,” she said, and would say nothing more. Luke did as he was told, and arrived in Camden at precisely the right moment.

Weird, I know. But I would like to learn how to write a car chase. =D

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