The Courier Novels

Not My Head Again

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Fri, 15 Oct 2010 21:40:00 +0000

I still think his advice will piss it off even more, but I’ve got too many limbs to lose. So I slowly squat down, my legs shaking like jello while keeping an eye on its three-inch long canines. Raking fingers across the ground, there’s nothing but dirt and rocks no larger than gravel until I come across wet, sticky tissue. My expression scrunches and distorts as I pick up my dead limb, and I swear there’s feeling in my elbow where I’m grasping bone.

It growls and hovers overhead and the heat from its breath warms up my back.

Not my head, please not my head again.

When a super-sized blob of saliva drops in my hair and down my cheek, I hurl the arm aimlessly up into the air followed by wrapping my intact arms over my head. I teeter to the ground and fall in a fetal position, peaking between my arms for the location of the hellhound. It’s gone.

Flesh, Rotten Eggs and Limburger Cheese

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Thu, 14 Oct 2010 18:00:00 +0000

I look down at my new arm, still growing, not at all willing to lose it a second time. In fact I’d like my old arm back. I shake my fist and yell, “Drop it,” like he’s a trained dog.

He grins and I swear it makes his eyes look even more evil than they already are. Then, to my surprise, he drops it at my feet.

On second thought, I should have let him keep it. As I look down upon it, only one of the fingers and the thumb are still intact with the bone of one finger held in place by what’s left of the flesh. My stomach turns at the sight of my forearm, stripped of the meat with teeth marks nicked across the bone and the upper arm presented as Barry tartar, possibly saved for later consumption.

I look up and he’s still grinning, only he’s moved in on me so close I can smell his breath, a mixture of rotten eggs, Limburger cheese and my flesh. I retch at the same time my heart jumps at the thought of the hellhound munching down on my head again.

Then I recall Oscar’s reminder. Throw something at it.

Hellhound Abound

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 13 Oct 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Then I look towards the lights and it’s like vertigo. I’m still at least a quarter mile from the lights. I look behind me. Nothing within sight. At least Bruno’s still eating my dust.

Growling? Did I just hear growling?

Damn. Should I run?

My eyes scan one last time through the darkness for a hellhound, but I don’t see anything. Then I hear rustling again and my head jerks left to meet the familiar looking silhouette stretching out from behind a nearby bush. I was right. Hellhound.

The thing jumps out at me and I freeze. We’re face to face, not less than seven feet apart as I dare to go against Margery and Oscar’s advice not to look into it’s eyes. That’s when I notice something sticking out of one side of it’s mouth, but can’t quite make out what it is. Wait a second. Bastard’s gnawing on what’s left of my arm.

Finally, a Title for Book #3

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 23:20:00 +0000

After coming up with a long list of titles that were really bad, I finally came up with Cause for Redemption today for book 3. With only a few weeks before NaNoWriMo starts I don't even want to think about changing it until after the contest is over, so I added it to my NaNo page today.

Quick update on outlining. It's coming along nicely. I've got the major plot line set and have filled in quite a bit of the detailed outline. Have created quite a few new characters too. Will I be ready to start writing on November 1st? Absolutely!

New NaNoWriMo Account for The Courier

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 18:38:00 +0000

I created a separate account by the name of TheCourierNovels today for use in NaNoWriMo. Add me as a buddy...

3-Day Novel Contest Entry Received

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 15:31:00 +0000

Just wanted to mention that I received notification yesterday that the 3-Day Novel Contest has Warrant for Damnation. Got email notification five minutes after I made a mental inquiry, wondering if they'd received it yet. Does that make me psychic? Anyways, they sent me the nifty badge to the left reminding me I survived. Now they spend the next two months reading the entries. Still don't expect to place in the contest, but I'll let you know when they announce the winners.

Joining a NaNoWriMo Blogchain

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 01:56:00 +0000

I've been diligently working on the outline for The Courier #3 for NaNoWriMo the last couple weeks. Yeah, I know, what about finishing releasing #1 here first? Let's save that for another blog post.

Anyways, I'm trying to get myself psyched up for the contest, considering we're a month away. Was working on my schedule yesterday, putting it on the wall with stickies. Have to try to balance household tasks and some volunteering for Colorado Beagle Rescue with the contest. Still, after completing the 3-Day, I figure balancing the word count and following of the outline will be the keys to completing novel #3.

Today I happened upon Anyone else doing NaNoWriMo this year? over on Marissa Farrar's blog. I'm following her lead and joining NaNo Bloggers on Rebecca Enzor's Sticky Notes Stories blog. So there's another step accomplished, finding a support group during our lunacy.

The big thing I need to accomplish right now though is deciding on a damn title for #3. It's still not coming to me, and it would be nice to add it to my NaNo account. Oh well. Maybe tomorrow.

Chapter 29 Begins: Dodging Demons

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 15 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

In the distance, I see the three red lights; behind me the black demon roped off to the truck. Saying he’s pissed is an understatement. He spit on me from fifteen feet away and it landed on the bottom of my pants and ate a hole through to my ankle.

The lights aren’t as far away as I’d first thought. One thing to my advantage. I also see what looks like the black outline of oil drilling equipment. Gauging the distance, it’s probably only a little more than a quarter mile away.

I take off running, the demon and the truck follow at a snails pace. A minute later I look back and can barely see it. Only problem, I hear rustling up ahead and shiver as I remember the demon monster that took my arm and nearly my head. And halfway there I’m out of breath. What’s up with that? I’m immortal. What good is immortal life if I can grow new limbs, but can’t run a quarter mile without keeling over from a lack of oxygen.

There it is again, growing louder, swishing in a nearby bush. A honking roar sounds off. Hellhound. I freeze to locate its exact position.

Chapter 28 - You Do It or I Will

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 22:11:00 +0000

What now?

I’m not staying here.

My eyes shift quickly between Oscar, standing beside the door to the shack, and the demon, standing beside a thorn bush about twenty feet out from Oscar, picking something black and disgusting out of his nose. I’m right in between the two, trying not to gag.

I wonder how far I can get if I run?

“Let’s go back in the shack,” says Oscar.

I don’t answer. I’m now watching the red glowing taillights of the truck getting smaller and smaller as it disappears into the distance.

“Barry,” says Oscar, his voice starting to show evidence of irritation. “In the shack.”

“I thought you said it’s dangerous in there.”

If I take off now. My body tenses, like at the start of a race, when you’re waiting for the gun to go off.

“There’s something I need to show you,” says Oscar.

“Show the demon. I’m not interested.”

“I think you’ll be interested in this.” Oscar opens the door, holds it in place and waits for me to approach, but I don’t. I can see the light inside, glaring out of the corner of my right eye.

After several seconds of ignoring him, Oscar tries to jar me into moving by shouting my name. “Barry!”

At the next moment, the demon jumps at me like a kangaroo. My heart skips a beat with the sound of it’s gigantic feet landing on the ground beside me. I figure this is my queue to listen, so I pivot towards Oscar. Too late. The demon has me by the back of the shirt. He lifts me, like a suit case, carries me to the door and drops me at Oscar’s feet.

Oscar nods his head at the demon, showing his approval.

I look up at it from the ground. “That wasn’t necessary you ugly piece of.” It’s foot in my side knocks the wind out of me and doesn’t give me a chance to finish my sentence.

I rub my side with my short arm and get up. Nothing’s broken. At least I think my ribcage is intact. Hurts like a mother.

“You ready to follow me in the shack now?” asks Oscar.

I sigh and shake my head, nevertheless, I walk into the shack. Oscar follows. So does the demon, but Oscar tells him to stay outside. To my surprise, the thug listens.

Oscar closes the door behind us. “Keep it down,” he whispers. “Those demons can hear like wolves.”

He motions with his hand for me to follow him to the opposite corner of the shack, where I first noticed all the fishing gear. There are sheets of plywood in varied sizes and wear, some warped resting against the wall. Up above hang hand held nets and fishing poles on those hooks that look like a question mark. Now I’m no fishing expert, but sticking up from behind the plywood is what looks like a old harpoon, the tip nearly half a foot long and a little rusty on one side, but appearing as sharp as the day it was made on the other.

“Help me pull these forward,” Oscar says about the boards.

I get on one side and Oscar on the other. Together we pull then hold the plywood from falling forward, exposing what I’m now sure is a harpoon, the handle covered in cobwebs. I jump when a family of big black spiders run across the wood and towards my hand. Then I remember all the other bad assed demons I’ve dealt with the past couple days and a spider seems harmless. I laugh and brush them away.

The harpoon is long, standing taller than me, and all metal, mostly rusted out. I don’t need an invitation. I grab it and pull it out from where it’s sitting, careful to also clear the attached rope at the bottom from behind the boards. Then I lift it horizontally clutching it in my good hand and steadying it with small one.

“You think you can handle it,” Oscar asks while letting the plywood crash back against the wall.

It’s much heavier than I expected, but manageable for what I suspect Oscar has planned. “Sure.”

“Then show me. Stab my shoulder.”

“What?” My head jerks, surprised by what he’s asking me to do.

“Right here.” He presses at the fleshy area just above his armpit.

“No.”

“Do it. And quick. It needs to look like you overpowered me to get away.”

“And once I open the door and the demon see’s what I’ve done to you?”

“You’ll have to use it on him next,” Oscar says. “I suggest you leave it in him like a whale, and tie the end of the rope on the smashed up truck. It won’t stop him, but it’ll sure slow him down.”

I look at the tip. Highly unlikely it’ll stay in a demon for more than fifteen seconds. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll stick if I get him in the chest. It’s sure going to do some major damage to Oscar though.

I lift the harpoon in a launching position and aim for Oscar’s shoulder. On second thought, I drop my shoulders and the tip of the harpoon falls forward.

Oscar grits his teeth and hisses, “Do it,” between his teeth, “before the demon starts to wonder what we’re doing in here.”

I lift the tip back up and aim, still hesitating. At the same time, Oscar clutches tight on the neck of the harpoon and leans his shoulder into the tip of the spear. “It’ll hurt a hell of a lot more if I do it.”

No holding back this time. I thrust it forward, half into Oscar before I pull it back out as quick as I can, taking some of his flesh out with it. Red meat hangs from the tip until gravity pulls the bloody hunk to the floor.

Oscar’s face distorts as he growls and clutches his shoulder. He reminds me he’s a tough bastard though. “Not as bad as a leg full of shrapnel.” I follow him to the cot where I was laying when I woke up. He grabs some gauze and cloth and holds it to his wound. “It’ll heal in a couple hours, but I don’t have to tell you that. So don’t worry about me. Worry about stopping that demon from following you. They're weakest in their stomach and eyes, but it heals fast, so drive the harpoon into its gut as fast as you can, and like I said, tie off the rope on the truck. Just hope it doesn’t figure out it can bite through the rope.”

I’m taken aback. Didn’t think of that. “And if he does?”

“You’ll have to move quick to avoid the hellhounds anyways. And besides, hellhounds eat demons too. Move faster than both of them and you’ll be fine.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I say sarcastically before taking the harpoon and heading for the door. “The quicker I do this...”

“Follow towards the three red lights at the horizon. And if you do run into a hellhound, don’t forget to throw anything you can at it.”

“Thanks,” I say and run, harpoon first out the door.

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Copyright © 2009-2010 V.1 W. J. Howard. All rights reserved. No content of this story may be copied or reproduced without the written permission of the author.

He's a Tough Bastard

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Tue, 14 Sep 2010 18:30:00 +0000

Oscar’s face distorts as he growls and clutches his shoulder. He reminds me he’s a tough bastard though. “Not as bad as a leg full of shrapnel.” I follow him to the cot where I was laying when I woke up. He grabs some gauze and cloth and holds it to his wound. “It’ll heal in a couple hours, but I don’t have to tell you that. So don’t worry about me. Worry about stopping that demon from following you. They're weakest in their stomach and eyes, but it heals fast, so drive the harpoon into its gut as fast as you can, and like I said, tie off the rope on the truck. Just hope it doesn’t figure out it can bite through the rope.”

I’m taken aback. Didn’t think of that. “And if he does?”

“You’ll have to move quick to avoid the hellhounds anyways. And besides, hellhounds eat demons too. Move faster than both of them and you’ll be fine.”

“You make it sound so easy,” I say sarcastically before taking the harpoon and heading for the door. “The quicker I do this...”

“Follow towards the three red lights at the horizon. And if you do run into a hellhound, don’t forget to throw anything you can at it.”

“Thanks,” I say and run, harpoon first out the door.

Do It or I Will

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 22:54:00 +0000

“You’ll have to use it on him next,” Oscar says. “I suggest you leave it in him like a whale, and tie the end of the rope on the smashed up truck. It won’t stop him, but it’ll sure slow him down.”

I look at the tip. Highly unlikely it’ll stay in a demon for more than fifteen seconds. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll stick if I get him in the chest. It’s sure going to do some major damage to Oscar though.

I lift the harpoon in a launching position and aim for Oscar’s shoulder. On second thought, I drop my shoulders and the tip of the harpoon falls forward.

Oscar grits his teeth and hisses, “Do it,” between his teeth, “before the demon starts to wonder what we’re doing in here.”

I lift the tip back up and aim, still hesitating. At the same time, Oscar clutches tight on the neck of the harpoon and leans his shoulder into the tip of the spear. “It’ll hurt a hell of a lot more if I do it.”

No holding back this time. I thrust it forward, half into Oscar before I pull it back out as quick as I can, taking some of his flesh out with it. Red meat hangs from the tip until gravity pulls the bloody hunk to the floor.

New Book Cover for Warrant

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 23:40:00 +0000

Since I'm still a little brain dead, thought I'd use my other creative side and create a tentative book cover for Warrant for Damnation. Ended up creating it in light and dark. What do you think?

Warrant for Damnation in 3 Days

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 08 Sep 2010 17:34:00 +0000

A month ago I was writing about quitting blogging and today I'm announcing I DID IT. I wrote the first draft of Warrant for Damnation, The Courier #2 last weekend in the 3-Day Novel Contest.

It went amazingly well last weekend and I'm more than happy with the storyline. You can read more about the experience on my personal blog.

I enjoyed writing book 2 in the 3-Day so much that I've decided to write book 3 in NaNoWriMo this November. Uh oh, need a title. And, I feel renewed energy to finish releasing book 1 and complete the editing, so stay tuned. I'm taking one more day of rest, but will put out another part tomorrow.

Countdown to the 3-Day Novel Contest

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Thu, 02 Sep 2010 18:31:00 +0000

Just wanted to quickly note that I've officially entered the 3-Day Novel Contest and am finalizing the outline today and tomorrow for the second book in The Courier Series.

I've been thinking about posting how the contest is going here once or twice a day, but haven't made up my mind. If I need to vent, I figure posting here is as good as in my journal, so drop by Saturday night if you'd like to check for new posts.

I love the storyline I came up with for the second novel. It is much different than book 1 and filled with lots of new characters. It's all pretty exciting and I can't wait to get started on Saturday!

The Weapon

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 23:42:00 +0000

Oscar closes the door behind us. “Keep it down,” he whispers. “Those demons can hear like wolves.”

He motions with his hand for me to follow him to the opposite corner of the shack, where I first noticed all the fishing gear. There are sheets of plywood in varied sizes and wear, some warped resting against the wall. Up above hang hand held nets and fishing poles on those hooks that look like a question mark. Now I’m no fishing expert, but sticking up from behind the plywood is what looks like a old harpoon, the tip nearly half a foot long and a little rusty on one side, but appearing as sharp as the day it was made on the other.

“Help me pull these forward,” Oscar says about the boards.

I get on one side and Oscar on the other. Together we pull then hold the plywood from falling forward, exposing what I’m now sure is a harpoon, the handle covered in cobwebs. I jump when a family of big black spiders run across the wood and towards my hand. Then I remember all the other bad assed demons I’ve dealt with the past couple days and a spider seems harmless. I laugh and brush them away.

The harpoon is long, standing taller than me, and all metal, mostly rusted out. I don’t need an invitation. I grab it and pull it out from where it’s sitting, careful to also clear the attached rope at the bottom from behind the boards. Then I lift it horizontally clutching it in my good hand and steadying it with small one.

“You think you can handle it,” Oscar asks while letting the plywood crash back against the wall.

It’s much heavier than I expected, but manageable for what I suspect Oscar has planned. “Sure.”

“Then show me. Stab my shoulder.”

“What?” My head jerks, surprised by what he’s asking me to do.

“Right here.” He presses at the fleshy area just above his armpit.

“No.”

“Do it. And quick. It needs to look like you overpowered me to get away.”

“And once I open the door and the demon see’s what I’ve done to you?”

Sidetracked by Book 2 Again

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Thu, 12 Aug 2010 19:25:00 +0000

I did it again. I got myself sidetracked on book 2. Of course the 3-Day Novel Contest is fast approaching as well. Not to mention I'm writing the next part of Bloodleggers this month.

OMG! What have I done??

So I thought I'd leave a quick status on what's going on, before I post a part today. Yeah, you heard me right, a new part today.

Like I said, 3-Day Novel Contest is right around the corner. Twenty-two days to be exact. I've been working on the detailed outline this week. Already had a semi-detailed outline. While I've been outlining, I've realized something. I don't want to release #2 on Twitter, so I'm not going to. Unless, of course, I change my mind--I am a woman afterall--but I doubt that'll happen.

Twitter was a fun experiment, but I've really had enough of serializing a novel on it. It's time consuming and mind boggling trying to get all the short parts and daily parts semi-synced. Besides, R.J. and I are releasing Bloodleggers as a serial novel over on Blood Reads eZine, and that's enough pressure with deadlines. So after I've finished releasing the first book here, I'll continue to write in this blog like R.J. and I do over at the Bloodlegger blog.

In case you haven't noticed or read my personal blog, I finally moved the thecouriernovel.com domain here. Looked up the hit rate this morning and noticed I'm getting twice the visits since moving it. Now, I don't do much to promote this blog, so I'm assuming the traffic is coming in from other websites where I've release The Courier. That and some searches for the word "courier" and "novel," considering there are a few other novels with similar titles. So I plan to be a little more active here going forward.

Now off to release the next part of book 1. But let me apologize for the mental block in getting it done. If I don't finish in the next week, I may have to seek professional psychiatric help. LOL!

When You're Ready To Pack It In And Quit

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 23:57:00 +0000

How does Wile E. Coyote do it time after time? With each failure, he re-opens the Acme catalog and searches for another crazy product that might successfully catch or annihilate Road Runner. And here I am still struggling to release The Courier, ready to throw the "Acme Catalog" in the fire.

I slept away the weekend after eating some bad Chinese food that also contained gluten, so my deadline has passed, incomplete, and I'm feeling like packing it in and quitting.

What's funny is I read a guest blog post last week by Jodi Meadows on Lessons Learned where she talked about not quitting. It's like she knew where I'd be at the start this week. Isn't this classic?

A year ago, I wanted to quit. I was fed up with my lack of success, even though I was following all the standard advice: write, revise, revise, revise, query, write another novel, repeat until desired consistency of success is reached.

Jodi complains about getting publishing though. I'm not enjoying the writing process too much today. Will the feeling pass tomorrow. Wouldn't that be easy? There's been a lead up to this point, as in I could feel it coming. And I hate my story. It's an all around bad attitude that's taken over.

Jodi's story has a happy ending. All I can do is try to write a happy ending in my head. How do you do that when you're feeling so foul?

Chapter 28 Begins: How to Fool a Demon

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 20:26:00 +0000

Chapter 27 - Definately Alive

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 19:49:00 +0000

"Is he back yet?"

I’m so weak I can barely move and all I can see hovering over me is a smear of orange hair on a blurry shriveled face. My hearing is fine though and I’d recognize that voice anywhere. "Yeah, I'm back" I say irritated to Margery. My voice is gruff and scratchy, and when I swallow it feels like I’m trying to gulp down an entire egg. I clear my throat but it sore, like a bad case of strep throat. I won’t do that again.

“Give it another few minutes before you try to move,” says Oscar. He’s sitting on a chair beside me, rubbing something that smells like rotted fish off my neck. Then he adjusts his position backward, exposing blinding lamp light that shines brightly in my eyes.

“Turn that off, will ya?”

“Can’t. Only light in here,” he says, but shifts the lamp slightly, softening the glare.

“You had to go and miss the turn, didn’t you,” says Margery. “Put us behind schedule.”

It takes me a few seconds to comprehend what she said, then I let out “Pshaw.”
I blink my eyes and squint, then take in a deep breath that causes me to choke. Damn that hurts.

The room is coming into focus behind Margery, albeit rather slowly. Not that I really want to discern Margery’s image from the rest of the place. Looks like I’m in an old wood panel shack that smells of a mixture of dust, wood shavings and oil, and cluttered with machine parts and broken wagon wheels. Up above my head hang rusted out hand tools and as my bleary vision further clears I make out fishing equipment as well.

“Where am I?”

“I’ll ask the questions,” snaps Margery.

“Why don’t you both shut up and let Barry’s voice box finish sealing back up.”

That doesn’t stop her. With her voice shaking, “Were you with Vern in the refugee camp?”

I don’t answer because I’m looking around the room for the quickest way out of the shack, which is a door to my right, about ten feet away from the cot I’m laying on. Only obstacle is a small round table surrounded by a few chairs.

“Answer me!” she shouts.

I reply with a snigger.

Margery raises her hands and leans forward, in a motion to strangle me.
“You sure you want to do that?” asks Oscar.

I hold my breath, half expecting Margery to grow into her demon form. Instead, we all stand frozen while the shack seems to spin around us until Oscar breaks the silence. “Go smoke a cigarette while I finish putting him back together.”

Slowly, Margery backs away and disappears out the door.

* * *

“Trouble has a way of following you wherever you go,” says Oscar, “but it only seems to be able to nip at your ass.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you manage to stay one step ahead of Margery and that really pisses her off.”

“I wouldn’t say getting my head nearly bitten off is staying one step ahead.”

“Got you to Hell didn’t it.”

“What difference does?” I pause. A picture of Vern sinking into the grounds of the refugee camp flashes in my mind. The last words he said follows. Margery. Setting me up. Apprentices. My torso jerks into a seated position.

“Slow down,” says Oscar while pushing on my chest to motion me back down. “You’ll end up headless again.”

My right hand reaches back for the cot to catch myself and steady my balance. “No, I’ve got to.” Again I pause.

“Got to what?”

I can’t tell him I’ve got to stop Margery. So I tell him, “Go. I’ve got to go.”

But he persists with the questions and pushes harder on my chest. “Go where?”

Oscar is a strong guy, and in my weak state he’s starting to win the battle to lay me back down. So, I take a swipe at him with my left hand, or I try to push him away. Something’s wrong. “My arm? Where is it?”

“Check in your shirt,” says Oscar and he motions to help me pull an infant sized limb through the hole of the sleeve.

I whimper.

Oscar thinks it’s funny. “Like a freak show, isn’t it?”

My jaw drops as I shake my shoulder and watch my limp arm flail forward and slap my chest. “I can’t control it!”

“It’s pretty useless right now, although if you concentrate, you should be able to make a fist.” Oscar squeezes his own hand to demonstrate, then spreads his fingers back out.

He’s right. For several seconds I squint and wince, and finally my fingers bend. Once my hand clenches, it adheres in a fist. A lot of use that’s going to be. As soon as it’s back to normal size, it’ll be hard not to use it on Oscar.

“In another thirty minutes or so it should be twice the size. Full size in an hour or two. You might have to work the muscle back up though. They don’t always grow as fast as the bone, and if that happens, it’ll hurts like a son of a bitch.”

I give him a dirty look.

“Hey, I’m not the one who decided to take on a devil dog.”

“Yeah, like that was my decision.”

“You’re lucky it ripped your arm off at the shoulder joint. It’s easier to grow a limb back than heal a ground up flesh wound. Or at least it’s quicker. I probably would have cut it off and started from scratch anyways.”

I take a closer look at my miniature arm and curl my lip in disgust.

“I feel dizzy,” I tell Oscar. “Is that normal?”

“Could be a blood clot or kink in a vein.” He readjusts the light to beam at my neck, blinding me again, so I shut my eyes tight. “Huh,” he says a few seconds later. “Looks fine.”

“Whoa,” I complain. “There it is again.” With my good hand I grab the side of the cot to steady myself.

“That’s not you, Barry. I felt it too,” he says, “and it’s getting worse.”

A screwdriver falls between my knees and my eyes widen. There’s rattling all around us now. I hold tighter on the cot to stop myself from falling off.

“It’s another earthquake! And they’re getting worse!” Oscar shouts. "We've got to get out of here."

“Earthquake?” My downturned eyebrows expressing my question.

“Third in the last hour, but that one was too shaky for comfort.”

“Where we going to go?”

“Anyplace but here. This old shack won’t take much more shaking before it collapses in on us.”
Oscar tries to help me off the cot, but I fall to the floor, right on my ass. He howls with laughter, but I’m not finding it so funny. With my neck still healing and a tiny arm, all I need now is a broken coccyx. Makes me cringe just thinking of the added pain.

While he continues to chuckle, Oscar reaches down and grabs my short arm to help me to my feet.
I’m able to reach out and clutch his hand. Still, the laughing. “Knock it off,” I say.

“New arm’s strengthening pretty quickly.” He seems pleased.

The ground starts shaking again, this time only bad enough to cause us to brace ourselves while looking at each other in a state of panic. It stops seconds later though.

“Let’s go.” Oscar heads for the door.

But I’m frozen in place. It just hit me. We don’t have earthquakes like this in Colorado. This is Margery’s doing. Or is it the apprentices? I expect she’s still outside and I need to find her quick. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

Outside Margery stands beside two moving trucks, one with a smashed in front end that’s obviously the truck I was driving. “How’d you get that here?” I ask and point at it. There’s no way anyone could have driven it here.

She puffs on her cigarette and takes her time answering, “Bruno dragged it.”

The sight of the truck makes me shiver as my memory flashes to the giant hellhound that found my arm so tasty. Then I shiver again when I spy what can only be a demon coming around the truck. It’s three times the size of a human and black as night except for its yellow glowing eyes and the steer like horns on its head.

I lean in and whisper to Oscar, “That Bruno?”

He whisper’s back, “I think so, but it’s hard to tell with that type of demon. They all look alike.”

It’s carrying two metal kegs, one on each shoulder to the other truck. Then another one of the demons jumps out of the back of the smashed up truck, also carrying kegs. Oscar’s right, they do look identical.

“They work on the ranch?” I ask Oscar next.

“Yeah,” he says, then tells me to stop staring unless I want to lose some more body parts.

He’s right, I can’t just stand here and watch. I have to figure out what to do next, and fast. If there’s still something I can do that is. For me and the apprentices.

“Am I driving that truck out to the site?” I point at the good truck.

“You?” she says, standing with her arms crossed. “Haven’t you already done enough damage?”

“What am I supposed to do then?”

“Go back to the warehouse with Oscar and finish healing. You’re going to need your strength after this.” She laughs as if she’s just told an inside joke.

If I do that I might as well turn myself in. Or maybe that’s what I should let her think I’d doing. Cooperating. Then I can sneak away and find Trisha and the apprentices. And Nina. Where's Nina?

I scan the area for Nina, but it’s so dark I don’t see her anywhere close by. Then, like she heard my thought inquiring as to her whereabouts, she opens the door of the truck and jumps out.

“I thought I told you to stay truck!” hollers Margery.

But when she sees me, she comes running. “Barry Bear, are you okay?” I’m taken aback with the true concern in her eyes, like it’s actually Nina making the inquiry.

“You never mind about him,” says Margery. “Get back in the truck.” But it’s like Margery doesn’t exist.

“Is that Nina?” I ask Margery. “My Nina?”

Nina smiles as she approaches, like she approves of being ‘my Nina,’ but Margery gets between us in a huff. “Yeah, it’s partially her. Wouldn’t you know I put a weak demon inside a ditzy human. Seem they’ve melded together into a pretty useless combo.”

As Nina approaches with her arms out to hug me, Margery catches her by the hair and drags her to the side. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

“No. I want to stay here with Barry.”

“See. It likes to talk back.” Margery pulls harder on Nina’s hair and gets in her face. “Get back in the truck or you’ll be riding in the back with Bruno.”

Nina whimpers and stops fighting. “Please, no. I’ll be good.”

Bruno’s grinning a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth, ready to scoop Nina up like he’s King Kong. But she’s already jumping into the passenger side of the truck.

Margery turns to Oscar and says, “Keep him here. I’ll be back for him later.” It’s like I’m not present. She points at the other demon. “You make sure he stays here too. Use any force necessary, but make sure he stays alive.”

The demon glances in my direction with it’s menacing yellow eyes and snorts and hisses. Smoke escapes it’s nose and I take a few steps back until I run into Oscar.

Just as Margery heads for the now loaded truck, the ground begins quake, although slightly. Without turning or speaking to anyone in particular, she says, “We’ve got to hurry up. They’re just about through.”

“Who!” I yell.

Margery laughs, still not turning. “Who do you think?” Once inside the truck she slams the door and drives off quickly, scarping the tires and kicking up rocks.

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Copyright © 2009-2010 V.1 W. J. Howard. All rights reserved. No content of this story may be copied or reproduced without the written permission of the author.

Keep Him Here

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 14:55:00 +0000

Margery turns to Oscar and says, “Keep him here. I’ll be back for him later.” It’s like I’m not present. She points at the other demon. “You make sure he stays here too. Use any force necessary, but make sure he stays alive.”

The demon glances in my direction with it’s menacing yellow eyes and snorts and hisses. Smoke escapes it’s nose and I take a few steps back until I run into Oscar.

Just as Margery heads for the now loaded truck, the ground begins quake, although slightly. Without turning or speaking to anyone in particular, she says, “We’ve got to hurry up. They’re just about through.”

“Who!” I yell.

Margery laughs, still not turning. “Who do you think?” Once inside the truck she slams the door and drives off quickly, scarping the tires and kicking up rocks.

Double Hell Week

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Fri, 30 Jul 2010 01:37:00 +0000

Over on the Bloodlegger's blog early this week I posted Hell Week, about the challenges of writing and editing the second part in the Bloodlegger series. Of course, all I was thinking about at the time was making the Wednesday deadline for Blood Reads. Well, I also set a deadline to finish releasing The Courier here by the end of July. Guess what? That's also this week.

Did I really do that to myself?

I'm bound and determined to get it done, yes I am. So by Sunday, I expect to look like this ugly hairless dog that only an owner could love.

Don't feel too sorry for me. The rest of the novel has already been written and needs only minor editing. I might actually finish releasing it tomorrow, with one day to spare. Still, there are about thirty pages left to go through, heavy sigh. I guess this will be good practice because in September I write the first draft of Warrant for Damnation in the 3DayNovel Contest.

Better get back to editing...

The Perfect Barry

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 23:40:00 +0000

Today, the commercial for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World caught my eye, or should I say I saw Michael Cera in a whole new light. Put five years on him, and he'd be the perfect Barry.

Titles for the Other Courier Novel

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 12:32:00 +0000

I settled on a title for the second Courier novel last week. Already announced it on my blog so I thought I'd add it here. Then, this morning I also played around with titles for the other books using a 'damnation' theme. Here's what I've come up with tentatively for each. It needs some serious help.

Book 1: Highway to Damnation
Book 2: Warrant for Damnation (set on this one)
Book 3: Daughters of Damnation (was tentatively Daughters of the Sale)
Book 4: Brothels of Damnation
Book 5: Revenge for Damnation OR Damnation Abound

Nina and King Kong

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Mon, 12 Jul 2010 19:42:00 +0000

I scan the area for Nina, but it’s so dark I don’t see her anywhere close by. Then, like she heard my thought inquiring about her whereabouts, she opens the door of the truck and jumps out.

“I thought I told you to stay truck!” hollers Margery.

But when she sees me, she comes running. “Are you okay?” There’s true concern in her eyes like it’s actually Nina making the inquiry.

“You never mind about him,” says Margery. “Get back in the truck.” But it’s like Margery doesn’t exist.

“Is that Nina?” I ask Margery. “My Nina?”

Nina smiles as she approaches, but Margery gets between us in a huffs. “Yeah, it’s partially her. Wouldn’t you know I put a weak demon inside a ditzy human. Seem they’ve melded together into a pretty useless combo.”

As Nina approaches with her arms out to hug me, Margery catches her by the hair and drags her away from me. “I told you to stay in the truck.”

“No. I want to stay here with Barry.”

“See. It likes to talk back.” Margery pulls harder on Nina’s hair and gets in her face. “Get back in the truck or you’ll be riding in the back with Bruno.”

Nina whimpers and stops fighting. “Please, no. I’ll be good.”

Bruno’s grinning a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth, ready to scoop Nina up like he’s King Kong. But she’s already jumping into the passenger side of the truck.

Do What I Say

noreply@blogger.com (W.J. Howard) — Sun, 11 Jul 2010 13:12:00 +0000