I successfully completed the NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) challenge earlier tonight, writing 50,000 words for a story in less than 30 days. It was an incredible experience and left me eager to find out more about my characters, as their story is far, FAR from over. More on my plans to make that a reality later. As a final post for the novel this month, I felt it was only fitting to leave you as I approached you: with an action scene. Enjoy, and thanks for all your support!
Scotty Mac
The violent part got its wish. To my right, the remnants of a door swung open quickly, crashing against the stop. Out of the dark, depthless portal poured Beloved by the dozens, their eyes directly on me. I tried to think of a smartass comment to mark the occasion, but my mouth was suddenly dry as I looked at their faces, a unified mask of hunger and rage. Instead, I pulled the flash bang off my vest, pulled the pin, muttered "Game on," threw it at the enemy and then looked away.
The noise and sound was brilliant and sent the Beloved reeling, howling in pain. I jumped on the pedals, sprinting further into the bowels of the downtown buildings, working to open a gap before the group regained its senses and charged after their dinner.
I weaved through the abandoned cars, throwing the bike into turns, inside foot held out for balance, the breath running ragged in my throat. I could hear their feet slapping the ground and their breath coming in grunts over my own wracked, dry sobs. I was maxed out on the flat ground, legs spinning in a blur, the pace unsustainable. I needed a plan, and I needed one fast.
Swinging east, I could see the city's capitol building coming into view. Risking a glance behind me, I saw I was being pursued by at least fifty Beloved. Jesus, they were like cockroaches! I couldn't make a stand out in the open, they'd just surround me and take me down. Somehow, I needed to force them into a narrow area where they couldn't outflank me and I could make each round from my .40cal count.
The capitol. What about the capitol? The underground entrance, Brandon. Yeah, that was it, the staircase that led down to the entrance was pretty narrow. Dad had shown me around there when I was younger while he was home from D.C. If I could get down there, I could set up, force them to come at me two abreast at most, and plug the corridor with dead or dying bodies, giving me enough time to escape. Yeah. That might work.
I turned north onto Capitol Boulevard and there it was, that miniature of the White House. Putting my last energy reserves into a final sprint, I bolted headlong for the steps to the raised entrance. I prayed the glass wasn't bulletproof.
In one fluid motion, I jumped off the bike while still surging forward, landing on a dead run and hoisting the bike to my left shoulder. I took the stairs three at a time, imagining Beloved hands tearing at my exposed neck the whole way. They were closing on me. Off the bike, I had switched from being a hare to a tortoise. Seconds that felt like a year later, I made it up the last step. Not stopping my run, I reached for my gun and fired into the glass doors. The first round hit, causing a crack. The second round sent those cracks racing around the glass, and the third finished the weakening process. I crashed through the door, leading with my right shoulder, pivoting the bike on my shoulder so it wouldn't hang up on the door frame.
Shards flew every which way and I skidded across the glass on the ground, nearly losing my balance. Climbing back on my bike, I pushed off, the mass of Beloved hard on my heels. I had to get to the back of the building.
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