Put chapter 6 to bed at a mini write in tonight. Word count is now sitting at over 18000 so far. I want to thank my friend, Nanci, who listened to some of the work and gave me the nod that I’m heading in the right direction with the mix of lightness and the serious subjects inside.
For those interested, here’s a little preview for you:
I stare at the blood soaked seat in the back of the Focus and wonder how to remove it. There is something final about that stain. A definitive turning point in existence that tells me we are not turning back from this problem. We still have a lot of daylight to kill in order to do what is needed. All that keeps running through my mind is that stain will never come out.
Arms encircle me from behind and a warm body presses up against me. I turn and look down into Mindy’s dark eyes. Her hair, still a little damp, is starting to form waves. Even without makeup, I’m intrigued by her beauty. I am a lucky guy to have found her.
“I’m ready to go,” she says and releases me from the hug. She tugs at the oversized t-shirt she must have scavenged out of my dresser and I can see she’s not wearing a bra again. Call me the luckiest man alive.
“Did you find something to wear besides the t-shirt?”
She smiles and lifts it a little to show oversized shorts. “My belt is keeping them up, but I really need to get some clothes.”
I nod. “Where’s your place?”
“Markham and Ellesmere, why?” Her eyes widen. “No, we’re not going back there.”
“Because I live in an apartment, and if the power is still out we’ll need to climb the stairs. Ten floors.”
“Remember Frank?” She hooks a thumb toward the back. “We could run into a lot of people like him. Dead and wandering around. How many arrows you got for that thing?”
She has a point. “Okay, but we need to get you some clothes to wear. You can’t keep putting bumps in my shirts.”
“You don’t like my bumps?”
It’s a trap. “I didn’t say that.”
She stretches the t-shirts neck and looks down. “They’re not that big.”
I shake my head. This is something that I’ll not win, no matter what, but something has to be said. “I like your bumps. In fact, I like everything about your bumps.”
“Even if they leave bumps in your shirts?”
She’s smiling at me, one hand pulling the neck of the shirt down and the other with a finger extended to the edge of her mouth. I’m toast, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
If you like what you’re reading in the previews, please go ahead and share it with your friends.
Till tomorrow, happy writing!