Saturday, March 14, 2009


OKAY guys, it's SATURDAY!!! WOOT, no day job today. YAHOO!

First -- be sure to hie thee thither to the Sinor's blog for Day 3 of Rosie.

Saturday, 3-14, Brad Sinor: .Monday, 3-16, Sue Sinor: . They share a blog, but Sue will post separately.
Wednesday, 3-18, Rachel Caine:
Saturday, 3-21Jackie Kessler:


It must have been putting the key in the lock that set of the trip spell. All I knew was that I saw a flicker of something out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed Bobbie Jo, flinging her bodily out of the line of fire so that the shaft of power missed skewering her. Instead, it passed through the empty air where she'd stood moving like lightning seeking the first solid object in its path. In this case, a battered old pick-up truck which went careening into the intersection amidst the sound of tearing metal and blaring car horns.

I didn't stop to help, not the driver, and not Bobbie, who was sprawled on the ground with her jaw hanging open with shock. There wasn't time. And damn it, they'd all be safer without my help. The best I could do for the innocents in the way was to run. I was the target.

I grabbed the key, twisting open the deadbolt that held the office door as the air shimmered not ten feet from me. I was diving through by the time the hound began to materialize. Slamming the door behind me I bolted past the marble topped counter that had once been the cashier's station of the bank. I was past the secretarial area and halfway down the hall when I heard the plate glass windows shatter. A muscled black form hurtled through the air, eyeless snout raised in the air to bay as he scented the fear of his prey.

"What in the he. . ." I zoomed past the figure of my boss, standing in the open doorway of his office. I only caught a glimpse of his expression, wide-eyed and horrified.

"Get back! Close the door!" I ordered, hoping he'd have the good sense to listen. I didn't wait to watch. My goal was in sight. The ancient bank vault that now served as our file room. My only hope was that the heavy steel door was thick enough to hold off not only the hound, but whoever held his leash long enough for me to open a gate.

I was running full out, but it wasn't going to be enough. The beast was right behind me. I could smell his foetid breath. Instinct made me dive, head first into the vault rolling to absorb the impact. The hound howled in frustration, his jaws having snapped air where my neck would have been.

A shotgun roared, and the nearest best squealed in agony. Blood and meat sprayed across the front of the old metal file cabinets. I rolled to a stop in time to see Robert Jacobs pump another round into the chamber and turn to aim down the hall. I scooted around the beast's carcass, grabbed the vault door. Pulling with all my strength I managed to get it moving. It swung to with a clang that cut off a second shotgun blast.

Cie/C.T. Adams

1 comment:

Suzette said...

I could never keep a story started by someone else going so I get a kick out of the talented people who can.