Hi, folks. Cyrus Keith once again,
her to regale you with tales and teasers, characters and cliffhangers, from my
series The NADIA Project. This is a
special occasion, because Critical Mass,
the third and final novel-length installment of the Project, is not even
released yet! So you fine folks get to see an early preview of what will prove
to be the best book in the series. If you liked my award-winning debut Becoming
NADIA and its sequel Unalive, you’re sure to enjoy Critical Mass.
More details are sure to come, but let me share with you why I chose this
particular passage for our excerpt tonight.
When I started writing this project,
I wanted several things to happen:
1. I wanted the story of Nadia
Velasquez to come to its final conclusion. No more loose ends.
2. I wanted to open more of Jenna’s
past. She had become so prominent during the course of Unalive I knew
there was more for her, and this was her time to shine.
3. Okay, so I really stopped at two.
But dudes and dudettes, several can be two, depending on the moon phase and the
angular symmetry of the modulation on the Cosmic Background Radiation
signature, okay? Besides, this is really cool, so just stick with me, okay?
Anyway, this part is actually
another of my favorites. I was writing toward a point where Jon and Jenna had
to come to some kind of deal to not kill each other long enough to focus on
their mutual enemies, The Pinnacle. It just so happens when I write, I kind of
follow this figurative “dotted line,” from Point A where Jenna survives a
treacherous attack from her own people, to Point B where she and Jon come to
their understanding. So the first thing to do is come up with a feasible reason
for them to want to find each other. Then you make a reasonable way for them to
meet up. So I had a reference point and certain conditions to write toward, and
a way to get there. Then I just started in, and let the story just kind of
carry me along. It seemed to write itself as the characters engaged in their
own back-and-forth repartee inside my head.
Which only goes to prove that
writers are all at least partially schizophrenic. So here we are: An unedited
excerpt from Critical Mass by Cyrus Keith:
* * * *
[Cover art pending. That's how new this is!]
At his car, Jon unlocked the doors
and waited on the driver's side for Jenna to get out of the wheelchair and
climb in. She just sat in the chair in her disguise until he lost patience and
came back around. He flipped the hat from her head. “Okay, you can dump the old
lady act—” He took in her disheveled hair, the bruises and stitches on her
head, her pale skin, and a hot wave of shock washed over him, mixed with shame.
He tried to think of something appropriate to say, but all that come out was a
gasp, followed by, “You look like hell.”
“Way to compliment a lady, Agent
Daniels.” Her face twisted in a grimace. Her trembling hands clutched at the
chair's armrests. “I need a little help getting up.”
Jon opened the passenger door and
helped her in, and then got in and started the engine. “Do you need a hospital?”
“No.” She grunted, settling into the
seat. “But if you could line me up with some painkillers and a place to lay low
for a couple of days, I'll be a happier girl.”
“Would you at least tell me what
happened to you?”
“Bad day at work. Just get me out of
here, will you? No hospitals. Can't be seen in public.” Her voice was getting
weaker; she was slurring her words. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Jon swerved
out into traffic, and she moaned with the sudden movement. “You've a doctor
workin' with you. Take me there.”
“Okay, but I'll have to blindfold
you.”
“Don' worry,” she slurred, “I'll
prolly be unconjus in 'few minuz. 'Zis seat lay back?”
Jon stole a glance at her as he
swung onto an entrance ramp. Her face looked like school paste and her jaw hung
open. She was breathing, for now, but the last time he saw someone that pale,
they didn't live much longer. Dammit,
girl; don't you die on me. He put his magnetic rotator light on the car's
roof and goosed the accelerator. As soon as he hit a clear stretch on the
interstate, he called Donna Hermsen. “Boss Lady? We have a problem.”
“What is it now? Are you followed?”
He double-checked his mirrors.
“Doesn't seem to be an issue. Donna, I've got Jenna Paine—”
“And who's got who tied up this
time?”
“Ha, ha. No, seriously. She's hurt,
bad. I think she just passed out.”
“What did you do to her?”
“I didn't do anything; she came in
like this.”
Donna's voice was tight with
tension. “Make sure it's not a trick.”
“Oh, it's no trick. She looks like
hell.”
“Well, what's wrong? Have you
checked her out?”
“Hang on.” He pulled over. “Okay,
what do I do?”
“Weren't you a boy scout?”
“It's been a long time, Donna.
You're a doctor—”
“A physiologist, not an MD. Hang on,
Beth is here.”
Jon clipped his Bluetooth to his ear
as he ran around the front of the car and opened the passenger door.
Beth's voice sounded in his
earpiece. “Okay, what's she look like?”
He felt her head. “Fishbelly white,
her face is clammy. She's got fresh stitches on the side of her head and
bruises all over the place.”
“Check her pupils; make sure they
dilate evenly.”
Jenna didn't even twitch when he
thumbed her eyelids up. “They look the same size; they react to light.”
“There has to be something else
going on. Is she bleeding anywhere else?”
“Hell, I don't know; she's dressed
up in a huge grandma sweater—” He saw the stain on his car seat and cursed.
“Beth, she's bleeding. Hang on—” He lifted the sweater and saw the dressing on
her torso. “She's got a huge bandage on her waist, and it's soaked through with
blood.”
“Fresh, or clotted?”
“It's soaking with fresh blood.”
“Dark or bright red?”
“It's bright red.”
“How much is flowing?”
“It's just seeping right now.”
“It's an active bleed, but it's not
an artery. Okay, don't peel it away, but tell me what color is the skin around
the edges of the dressing?”
“There's some bruising, but not too
bad.”
“Is the area hard and swollen?”
When he reached out to feel her
side, Jenna grabbed his wrist. She looked straight into his eyes. “Wha' th'hell
you doin'?”
“I'm seeing if you'll survive a
four-hour drive.”
“If I don', I prolly d'serve it.
Le's go.”
Beth said, “Okay, she's conscious.
Listen; put more padding on top of that dressing. Do you have any way to secure
it, to put pressure on it? Don't take it off for anything. Donna, Hushi, and I
are going to take off right now. We'll meet you at the Virginia
state line, at the welcome center on the southbound side. Meantime, I want you
to push liquids, as much as she can drink and keep down. OJ and clear soda,
half-and-half. That'll keep her blood sugar up, and give us a little more time.
Now haul out, and we'll meet you.”
Jon hung up and took off his shirt.
He packed it on top of the blood-soaked dressing and secured it with his belt
before pulling Jenna's sweater back down over it. Then he jumped back in and
pulled out onto the expressway. At the next exit, he found a quick stop and
picked up a two-liter and some orange juice. Now if I can get her to drink it…
* * * *
It was dark when he crossed the
Virginia state line. When he pulled in at the welcome center and opened the
door, he looked over at Jenna. In the dome light's glow, her face was a mask of
ghastly pallor. Her breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps.
He grabbed her shoulders. “Jenna?
Jenna, don't you do this! Stay with me, do you hear?”
Her eyes opened halfway, glassy and
blank. “Lemme th' hell 'lone, dammit.”
“Don't leave us, okay? I need you.”
Jenna brightened up. Recognition
came into her eyes. “Y-you… wamee stay?” She grimaced and moaned. A tear
squeezed from her left eye and caught on the side of her nose. Her hand fell
slack as she passed out again.
Jon sat on the pavement, leaning
back against the side of his car. He had expected a lot of things today, but a
tear from Jenna Paine? He would sooner have expected Osama bin Laden to put on
a yarmulke and sing “Hava Nagila.” He came out today ready to take up their
rivalry from where they left off, with bullets and fists.
But something had changed. Something? Hell, a lot of things had to have changed. Miss Paine,
what in God's name happened to you? Did her last target pack more than she
could handle? It would be easy to say she deserved it. Hell, she was an
enforcer involved in the world's most insidious hostile takeover bid. God alone
knew how much blood was on her hands. But did anyone deserve to die like this, slowly bleeding to death, alone in
the hands of the enemy? He almost felt sorry for her. Almost. Right now, all
she was to Jon Daniels was a link to The Pinnacle's leadership. If she could be
turned. If she lived long enough to turn.
2 comments:
Ahh Cyrus, you have saved the best till last. Gripping excerpt. Nice explanation of how you plot your story too. Thanks for sharing this. Can't wait till it hits the shelves.
Thanks, Rosalie! That means a lot.
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